


Fairy Tales And Dragons

by scurvaliciousbay



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Curses, Dragons, F/M, Fairy Tales, Friends to Lovers, Magic, Multi, Original Character(s), Princesses Who Kick Ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-09-06 16:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay
Summary: Called Fairy Tale AU on tumblr, this is an AU about my characters Serahlin and Adannar falling in love despite their circumstances. She is a princess of a kingdom, he is a dragon in an enchanted forest that separates her kingdom from Elvhenan. When the political climate forces Serahlin to flee for her life, she takes shelter by Adannar's lair. Intrigued, the dragon disguises himself and sees to it to help her. Meanwhile, Elvhenan's Prince Dirthamen goes missing, and the two kingdoms are about to ally to bring a final end to the dragons.... Written with characters belonging to SeleneLavellan, circadian_rythm, Little_Lotte, Feynites, and Lycheemilkart (tumblr).





	1. Once There Was A Dragon

Lore around spirits are largely taken from Feynites's wonderful works. Please go read her writing if you have not, she is an incredible writer and wonderful person.

* * *

Every Friday, Adannar sets out to collect necessary alchemical components and food. The food part usually doesn’t take so long, he isn’t particularly picky, but the alchemical components can be very tricky. For instance, he needs a type of moss that seems to only grow on this one hill on the outskirts of his territory. The hill has an altered state of being due to the life and death of a spirit of Renewal. Every now and then, Adannar will see another Renewal lingering around the knoll, which means the hill is in radiant bloom. He saw the spirit yesterday, so if he hurries, he thinks he can make it in time to harvest the moss.

The moss is infused with wisps of Renewal’s energy and aid in the creation of his little creatures as well as general maintenance. But today he is looking to augment building.

To gather the moss, Adannar must shift his large, draconic body into a form more suited for the task. He shifts into an elf and walks the rest of the way to the hill. This way, he also avoids alarming the spirit. The creature has been known to take to fright overly much, accidentally shattering itself. Such a delicate thing.

After a moment of walking, he realizes he has neglected this form. His hair has grown long and reaches his ankles, and he is thinner than previously. He is not gaunt, but the robe he has attached to this form is looser, giving it a much billowier look than intended. No matter, he is simply here to gather the moss.

He walks up the hill to where the moss grows in thicker patches on stones, shaded by the tall tree Renewal likes to spend its time. Adannar sets his basket down next to a large rock and takes out the small paring knife. He gently works the knife along the rock to remove the moss, placing it in the basket as he goes. He needs a good bit of it, so he makes his way to several other rocks before feeling satisfied with the amount he has collected. He won’t return to the hill for some time to gather more. Renewal will need time to cultivate more.

With his basket packed and the day’s main task accomplished, Adannar shifts back into his true form. He picks up the basket with a particularly dexterous claw then launches himself into the sky to fly back to his roost.

The forest is in the foothills of a great mountain range that acts as a natural border between two kingdoms. He…doesn’t know the names of the kingdoms, but he does know that the one he is flying from is smaller and the kingdoms don’t always get along. His nest is in a lone, small mountain that he has dug and carved out for himself through the centuries. It was his primary objective for many years until he was satisfied with the outcome. It is not as gigantic as some dragons’ lairs, but he likes it – it’s homey and allows him to work.

He’s created all of the decorations in his lair, from crystal chandeliers to beams that support some of the ceilings to burnished floors. It is the only home he has ever known, and while on the modest size for dragons, it can feel large and lonely to him. His seclusion is not by _his_ choice, but rather by the choice of others to create spurious rumors about dragons.

Every so often knights fancying themselves as dragon slayers find his home. They demand he relinquish a prince or princess he has not stolen then attempt to kill him. The ones that live because they wisely run have spread tales of him and his little automatons. They know him as the Mad Dragon in the Forest. But to his kind, he is simply Adannar the Lonesome.

His home is just as he left it, in a disarray that he has felt unobligated to fix due to his lack of visitors. His friends have taken to solitude as well, and he is unsure of how to broach the subject on breaking it. He longs for the days when his kind could just be, visiting not only other dragons, but people – elves, humans, dwarves, even the horned people to the north. But the dragon slayers have risen in prominence, dragons have been killed for being too…prominent. So they lay low, even if it means seclusion and depression.

Adannar does his best to remedy his loneliness by creating. As a result, he has created many, many little creatures – wisps woven into mechanical bodies that resemble woodland creatures. They populate his home and the forest, not harming anything, just…being. He has struggled to give them language to converse, however, despite figuring out how to give them full personalities and lives. He loves each and every creation, and each is given a name, but he longs for more.

He has moss to create and repair but a heavy melancholy overwhelms him when he returns home, the piles of stuff only reminding him of everything he _should_ do. But he lacks any of the ability to actually do any of it.

Instead of doing of the work he ought to be doing, Adannar collapses into the pile of pillows and blankets that make up his bed. He falls asleep and drifts into the Dreaming much more easily than he has in the past, his soul drifting and floating through familiar pathways.

He is not seeking anything in particular but feels strangely drawn to a small cottage in the forest between his home and the kingdom to the west. He lets his curiosity pull him to the long-abandoned home. Or supposed to be abandoned. Through the bright colors of the Dreaming and the familiar spirits drifting through the space, Adannar sees a horse tied to a tree, nibbling on a bush.

Curious, Adannar floats down into the cottage, his body wispy and delightfully formless. It is strange to be this way, like he was before he was a dragon, but not entirely unwelcome. He admits, there are days where he longs for the simpler days of a bodiless existence. And it comes in handy for exploring his territory when the weight of his body is too much.

Inside the cottage, a small fire burns. It has the look and size of a fire recently made, or made by someone not accustomed to building fires. Curled by said fire is an elven woman with her legs pulled up in front of her body and her forehead leaning against her knees. Hair black as ink spills down in front of her face and down her back. Pastel pink and blue robes are torn from her ankles to her knees, stained by mud and dust. But her hands are soft looking, her nails delicately manicured. Not accustomed to building fires, then. A noblewoman, but a noblewoman far from where she is supposed to be.

Her shoulders shake, from cold or crying, Adannar can’t tell. But he can tell that she has very few items on her person, and there is no food in the cottage, he knows. The poor thing! She must be so scared and lonely.

Adannar drifts out of the cottage and back to his body, forcing himself to wake. A burst of energy fills him and spurs him to gather a few foods that are palatable to elves – bread, fruits, and cheeses. He even packs a wine that’s been sitting in his kitchen for some time.

With all haste, Adannar takes to the skies and heads for the cottage. He lands and shifts into his elven form before reaching the home, however, careful to not scare his guest away. Several of his mechanical creatures follow his path as he strides to the cottage. Once, twice, he knocks before opening the door.

“Hello?” He calls before entering. The woman gasps and shifts back, scrambling to her feet and fishing out a dagger in her robes, pointing it at him.

“Who are you?” She demands.

He blinks, “I could ask you the same, seeing as this is my cottage.” Alright, not really _his_ cottage, but it’s in his territory and it’s been abandoned for some time, so it could be said it is in his possession at least.

She hesitates before speaking, voice laden with suspicion, “I did not think anyone was living here.”

Adannar shrugs, and smiles, “Well, I now live deeper in the woods, more room you see. Old wards alerted me to your presence.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, her lips pressed into a harsh line, “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know _she_ didn’t send you?”

Adannar blinks, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. No one sent me, just…myself I suppose.” He lifts the basket, continuing to smile pleasantly, “I brought food.”

“How do I know it’s not poisoned? She…she would do something exactly like that,” she says, taking a step back, hand still firmly gripping the dagger.

“I really do not know who you speak of, but it is a fair worry, there are some very concerning sorts in the world.” He opens the basket and samples each food item, careful to show her each one before he nibbles on it. He even tries the wine. A delicious rose that matches her eyes.

By the end of the demonstration, he can see the hunger on her face, lips parted and eyes devouring the bits still visible. He places the basket on the floor and steps back.

“You are welcome to as much as you like, I am not an impolite host.”

She eyes him for a moment longer before settling down next to the basket. First up are the strawberries. Then she nibbles on some cheese and bread. She pours a glass of rose with a shaky hand and seems to have to resist from downing the entire glass.

She must be starving to eat so quickly. But even as she devours the food, he notices her posture is straight, her fingers delicate and poised as they hold her food. A noblewoman retains her manners everywhere it seems.

“My name is Adannar, by the way,” he says. She pauses and looks up from her meal, bashful and without a napkin to properly dab away the fruit juice at the corners of her mouth.

“How remiss of me, I am simply so used to everyone knowing who I am. I am Serahlin El – just Serahlin. A pleasure to meet you, thank you for the food, it’s delicious.” Her smile lights her entire face up in a brilliant display and he feels his heart stutter for a moment.

It has been far too long since he has had company to feel this way about simply conversing with a woman. A woman who had just threatened him, no less.

“A pleasure to meet you as well. And if you have need of the cottage, you are welcome to stay, though I must insist on letting me actually fill it with things to make it habitable.”

“Oh that is,” she pauses, biting her lip, blushing, “that is too kind of you. This is your home and I would hate to impose.”

He waves her off, “You would not be imposing in the slightest. As I said, I live deeper in the woods. I would be a terrible host if I did not ensure your comfort, correct?”

Serahlin pauses, then nods slowly.

“Great!” He claps his hands and walks outside where many of his little creations have gathered, curious to see the mystery woman. The mystery woman who follows him outside and gasps at the sight of the creatures.

“Wh-what are they?!”

“They are my creations, do not worry, they will not harm you. Here,” he holds out his hand to her while a deer-construct named Huirin sniffing at Adannar’s other hand, “let me show you.”

**

Serahlin stares at the…mechanical deer and wonders briefly if she has fallen into one of the stories her maid used to read to her as a girl. The man, Adannar, holds his hand out to her, clearly gesturing for her to follow his lead and perhaps _touch_ the creature. It is…overwhelming, to say the least.

It must be the lack of sleep over the last few days because she takes his hand, rough from building these…creatures. But he is gentle as he guides her hand to its muzzle. The metal is warm and smooth and the deer responds like a real deer, blinking and sniffing, curious. A curious air surrounds it as it steps closer to her.

“Oh, that is…”

“Alright, Huirin, give the lady space. I apologize, he is a glutton for treats and rubs.” A soft whirr emanates from the deer in what she can only assume be a noise of communication.

Serahlin swallows and retracts her hand.

Adannar, the man, is very…earnest in his kindness. When she had found the cottage it had been a blessing after the three days on the road, trying to get as far away from the palace as possible. Even if getting far away meant braving the Dragon’s Forest and even the dragon itself. There was no food or furniture, but it was something, which was more than she had.

The food Adannar brought was blessedly not poisoned and the more he acts, the more she is convinced he is not sent by her mother, but just a strange man who lives the dangerous woods…making mechanical woodland creatures.

It is too much to fully process at the moment lest she risk completely melting down in a sobbing mess. First her mother tries to kill her and now she is in a strange wood with a strange man and stranger creatures. Too much. Better to ignore it and let it happen than to think about it.

Adannar gives the creatures instructions, requesting they bring back everything necessary to make the cottage livable. But really, Serahlin doesn’t need it, she just…alright, perhaps she does need it. She hasn’t even been able to find food on her own, and only luck granted her finding that small brook to drink from.

“In a few hours, the home will be ready. Would…would you like a change of clothes? I have some robes that can fit anyone easily.”

She must look horrid for him to ask her such a thing, but she supposes it is part of the deal after spending three days on the road running from her tyrannical queen of a mother. She nods.

“That is too kind.”

“Nonsense, the world can always use more kindness.” He turns back to a creature, a large bird this time, telling it to bring back robes. She pulls her clothes closer to her body, stupidly worried over her appearance. He doesn’t know who she is or her status or anything. She is just Serahlin.

It makes his kindness nigh unbearable.

_Don’t think about it don’t think about it._

Her hands return to her front, clasped together to keep them from shaking. Her distress must be obvious for Adannar to turn to her, brows drawn together in concern.

“When was the last time you slept?”

She swallows and considers lying, but what use would that be?

“Sufficiently? Three days ago. I have attempted to sleep more but the forest…I’ve never been without a bed.”

His expression turns soft, “And fear keeps you awake nonetheless.”

She startles, “I said nothing about fear.”

“You pulled a dagger on me when I first entered the cottage, your robes are torn, you have no supplies – you’re running from something. Do not worry, I don’t even know who to report you to if I even was the sort to do such a thing. And I’m not! I promise. Lots of people run from things! Often from monsters.”

Not for the first time she thinks of how strange he is. His way of speaking is foreign, as is his accent, robes…truly everything about him is odd. He is not from the neighboring kingdom, his mannerisms are entirely wrong, too open and honest. But he is not of her kingdom either, he is too earnest and bombastic. Besides, he is…in quite the disarray aesthetically, though it looks entirely more purposeful than Serahlin’s own current state of ruined robes. His hair has been allowed to grow significantly past fashionable length and what are his robes even supposed to be? They hang loosely on his frame, too big, and yet they are exquisite.

“Monsters?” She asks carefully.

“Yes, I’ve met many people fleeing monsters. Gurguts are common enough to run from, nasty buggers, they smell terrible. Bogfishers, though they’re less aggressive as long as you give them room. I once saw an entire village flee a giant that had decided to take over the village for some strange reason. And of course, there are more sinister monsters, abusers who make fleeing almost impossible. You don’t need to tell me what monster you’re fleeing from. Just know that you are welcome here as long as you need.” The mechanical creatures disappear into the wood, theoretically fetching the items Adannar has requested.

His words are reassuring in the least. She had not dreamed of finding safety in the Dragon’s Forest of all places, running from her mother of all people. And speaking of monsters…

“Isn’t there a dragon living in the forest?”

Adannar blinks and shrugs, “I’ve never been bothered by the dragon. Keeps mostly to itself from what I can understand.”

“That is a relief,” she sighs, leaning against the cottage wall. The knights had all said the same thing about the dragon in the forest being terrible and cruel and mad. She ran here because she knew that it would give anyone pause chasing her. _Leave Serahlin to the forest, she’ll die soon enough with that dragon in there_.

And perhaps she would have if she had not met Adannar.

_Don’t think about don’t think about it._

“You are exhausted, please, sit, allow us to fix the place.” He guides her to a stump to sit on and she turns away from him.

“I am not an invalid, good sir, I am fully capable of helping.”

“I am not saying you are incapable, I apologize for insinuating such. Rather, I am striving to be a good host. Though I am failing if I am insulting you – what would you like to do?”

What a question. What _would_ she like to do? What she wants is to sleep for week and to be taken seriously and not just as a silly princess. Not that she wants to tell Adannar that. He doesn’t need to know that she is more than what she seems to be, and that the monster she’s running from looks more like herself than a gurgut or bogfisher or whatever else he was on about.

Sitting is nice though, and she appreciates his candor. She is unaccustomed to such openly kind and honest behavior. He is bound by manners, clearly, but not in an effort to one-up her, but to genuinely be good to her. It is as foreign to her as his garb.

“I am quite fatigued from my journeys,” she says, “but if there is a task you need assistance with, please ask.”

He nods and continues to smile, “That I will. Rest is important, it is how the body naturally heals itself.” Several of the creatures return from their venture, carrying various objects in their talons or mouths or on their backs. Adannar waves his hands and conducts the items into the house by _floating_ them in. There are thuds and scrapes but the entire spectacle is quite…amazing. He must be exceptionally gifted to be able to move all of this, and there is quite a bit, on his own.

“Do you require assistance? Telekinesis is not my forte but I can certainly reduce any strain.”

“What? Oh no, this is not very difficult me, don’t worry,” he affirms before returning to the task at hand. Posts and lamps and rugs and even dishes are floated in, arranging themselves into proper formations. But no, it’s Adannar doing all of this.

Exactly how powerful is this man? He says he made these mechanical creatures and now this blatant display of power is…it’s a bit concerning. Is she his guest or his prisoner?

“You are quite gifted with magic,” she says.

“I suppose.”

“It makes sense then for you to live out here, many would seek to use you or your power for their own gain.”

He hesitates but nods, “That is very true.”

“But it’s not why you live out here?” She presses.

The flow of items reaches its end and he lowers his arms. When he turns to her, she expects a harsh face, a turn in his demeanor to show that she is more prisoner than guest. But he only looks…sad, even with his smile and kind, yellow eyes.

“Not entirely. Many do not understand and what people do not understand, they seek to hurt or tame. I have no interest in either.” He turns from her, gold hair flowing away from him as he strides to his creatures.

“Food will be brought to you. If you are interested, I can teach you, or one of the spirits of the forest can teach you to hunt and gather and cook. I imagine noblewomen aren’t taught such things.”

Feeling suddenly defensive, Serahlin narrows her eyes and straightens her back, “I am not a frivolous dependent. I went out on hunting trips regularly with the hunts master.” Not that she learned that much from those trips, but still, his tone leaves much to be desired.

“I do not wish you to starve, Serahlin. I apologize for poor manners, the exertions of the day have left me fatigued,” he turns toward her, serious and solemn, “a caution about the forest - do not pass the waterfall to the east, many who do, do not return.”

What a cryptic thing to say. Before she can question him by what he means, he slips into the forest, seeming to disappear within the shadows. Strange, but it the Dragon’s Forest, strangeness is probably the norm as backwards as that sounds.

When he leaves, the creatures go with him, taking the low whirring that had filled the air with them. It leaves her with a sudden heavy silence and a full cottage for her to explore anew. Serahlin rises from the stump and heads into the cottage, now alight with warm candles and a much more sufficient fire. There is a sofa with cushions covered in a vibrant floral pattern that makes her smile. Behind the sofa against the wall is an oil lamp; and next to a bookshelf that even has a few books on it – old and weathered tomes on flora and fauna of this part of the world and even a few fictional stories.

She wanders up the stairs into the bedroom to find the fireplace in there lit as well, and a small oil lamp sitting on a side table. The bed is smaller than what she is used to, less extravagant, but it is beautiful all the same. It appears to be hand carved from a light wood, swirls and symbols etched into the small posts at the head and foot of the bed. The bedspread is floral as well, though different from the cushions on the sofa it’s still a beautiful print.

She wanders to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed and opens it to find it filled with robes. They are unlike any of the fashionable robes she had in the palace, but they are radiant in their own way. Best of all, they are _clean_ and untorn.

Opting for comfort for the day that is winding to a close, she chooses the night gown, wrapping the soft simple robe to her body. She spends many minutes simply brushing out her hair, getting all of the knots and tangles that have formed over the past few days of running. It is not easy and by the end, the brush is covered in hair.

But her hair is brushed, and her clothes are clean, and she is exhausted. This place is strange, and she is alone. Before a few days ago she had never really been _alone_. There had always been people around her – servants, her mother, her sister, knights, nobles…. It is not a terrible thing, she doesn’t think, but it is not good either. She is alone because her mother wants to kill her, because another kingdom demands it due to their supposed honor. It’s ridiculous and sad and terrifying.

She lies back in the bed and looks up to the ceiling. As strange and scary this entire thing has been, she thinks she’s at least temporarily safe. Safer here at least than at the palace. Adannar seems kind, if odd and exceptionally powerful. He seems to be bound to a code of hospitality that obligates him to see to her needs, but she is unfamiliar with this code. Hospitality is expected back home but so is a certain amount of distance and an “accomplish what you can on you own” attitude.

Or maybe he’s mad and being quirky to get her to like him so she won’t question it when he starts performing magical experiments on her. If that’s the case, she has the knife and the horse to run. Though for now she is safe and in a very warm, soft bed. She waves her hand, switching the oil lamp off as her body drifts into the best sleep she has ever had.

* * *

Thank you for reading! <3


	2. And The Dragon Met a Princess

Adannar does not enjoy lying. He’s not particularly good at it either, which just contributes to his distaste for it. But he also knows that he needs to protect himself and sometimes that means lying, even to guests in his territory. From what Adannar can tell, Serahlin isn’t ready to hear that what she’s probably been told about his kind is mostly incorrect. She’s not ready to accept that Adannar is a dragon and poses no real threat to her or her people. She won’t believe the truth, so what difference does a lie make?

He returns home feeling wonderful despite the lies. It has been so long since he’s had someone new to talk to. But then appears Serahlin, in her torn robes and her need to hide from whatever she is fleeing. And he is happy to give her shelter! His little creatures will also be useful in monitoring whatever comes in to make sure she’s safe. Not that he knows what she’s running from, but still, he will make the effort.

He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. A lovely energy fills him, and he spends it cleaning his workshop. He gets only a portion through cleaning before collapsing onto a different pile of pillows and blankets, his energy leaving him in a rush. Still, he’s happy to have accomplished even a small piece. His sleeping mind is less aware of the Dreaming this time, truly asleep and unaware, just…drifting through the Dreaming like he ought to be.

When he wakes, it is to a golden sun rising above the mountains. There are birds chirping and the whir of his creations to greet him. Dragons don’t really smile, mostly for aesthetic reasons and it never quite feels like smiling to bare teeth this large. But if dragons did smile, he would.

He digs into his stash of food and chomps down on cured meats. He rather dislikes eating as an elf, he never feels…full. He thinks the size equivalent would be to be starving as an elf and only enthusiastically given crumbs.  _ Crumbs _ . He is not the biggest dragon, but he is big enough to need a full-grown deer in the morning, and a one of the large mollusks in the nearby ocean in the evening, supplemented with snacks through the day. He once ate an entire cheese wheel which is apparently even a bad idea for a dragon.

After eating his fill, he packs up a basket full of breakfast items. Then he takes to the sky and flies toward the small cottage west of his mountain. Flying after eating may not be the smartest thing, but there is a lot to do today, lots to teach and show her if he is going to help her successfully live away from her old life. And he wants to help, he realizes.

He lands in a grove close to her cottage, but far enough away for her to not see him transform. She doesn’t…she’s not ready for that piece of her world to come crashing down.

_ What do you mean dragons aren’t evil fire-breathing creatures bent on stealing beautiful people and doing terrible things to them? _

_ Oh yes, Serahlin, dragons are quite nice, we enjoy chess more than raping and pillaging. Well, most. There are some who are vile, but that’s how it is for elves. I don’t judge your entire race on the dragon slayers who spread false propaganda about my people, so please don’t judge my entire people on a few bad eggs. _

He snorts to himself. Bad eggs! Like how some hatch!

Back in his elf form, he shrugs a different robe closer to himself. It’s russet colored, to compliment the gold in his hair. He feels like it’s only right to look nice for proper ladies like Serahlin.

He should bring her more clothes, she looks like she enjoys clothes, fine ones. He can understand that, she is radiantly beautiful and anything that touches her ought to be just as stunning. It’s only right.

The forest is beautiful this morning, the leaves are perking up in the early sun, drops of dew melting off the grass. Is it always this beautiful this early? He can’t remember the last time he was up so soon.

The cottage is as he left it, peaceful. The horse she rode here is still tied to that tree, all the grass pulled up around him. Poor thing must be hungry. Carefully, Adannar approaches him, unties him, and guides him to a lush spot where there’s grass, a bush, and a tree to nibble on. There are certain perks to being a dragon, especially when you’ve lived in one region for so long. The territory begins to react to you and your magic. All he has to do to replenish the grass the horse has eaten is wave a hand and encourage life to grow and little grass spouts rise to poke out of the dirt.

The window on the second story of the cottage opens and a familiar face pokes out of it, sleep still on her face. She rubs at her face then squints down at him.

“Adannar?”

“Good morning, Serahlin!” He calls up to her. She leans on the window sill, her night’s braid, all frayed from sleep falling over her shoulder.

“Is there an enchantment on the house for good sleep?” She asks, voice all husky.

He chuckles, “No, but I am glad your sleep was good. I bring breakfast!” He raises the basket and she nods, gesturing for him to come inside. He waits several minutes before she descends from above wearing a cream-colored dress and forest green over-robe. Her hair is up in a high braided bun and he has to remember to think for a moment.

“The clothes you have are unlike anything I’ve seen, how did you come upon them?” She asks.

Oh. The clothes are out of date, which he should have expected, he hasn’t done anything with the wardrobe in…many, many years. He swallows and shrugs.

“I made some of them, many were…found. This forest is large and home to many ruins, magical ruins that tend to preserve old remnants, like these clothes.” Not a complete lie. There are many ruins. There is the Glass Tower to the north and the Glade Keep ruins east of that. And south of Adannar’s mountain is ruin by the sea where wyverns like to live.

Serahlin glances down at her clothes then back up at Adannar, “These are…vintage?”

“You do them lovely justice. Clothes want to be worn, especially finery like this. They are well made, simply as you said, vintage.”

She raises a brow at him, skeptical for a moment before smiling small.

“You are right, clothes like to be worn, and there is no court to judge what I am wearing. So, what is for breakfast?” They make their way to the table close to the small kitchen. He places the basket on the table and removes bread, a grapefruit, and a couple of eggs along with a pan.

“I can cook up the eggs while you eat what you like of the bread and fruit,” he offers. She nods while he moves to the fire and begins to fry the eggs. He is no chef, but he can fry a mean over medium egg. In minutes, he’s back at the table, sliding the eggs onto her plate and fishing a fork out of the basket.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” She asks softly after a moment of staring at the eggs.

Adannar blinks and smiles, “People ought to be kind to other people, don’t you think?” The kingdom to the west must be so cold for her to not expect basic kindness from a stranger. Though…this may not be basic, he is bringing her breakfast and making her cottage livable. But still, she doesn’t expect kindness, he can see it in her hesitations and small puffs of surprise every time he does something for her.

“I do think that, yes, but it is so rarely taken to heart so truly as you have done. I am grateful, so very grateful, I am merely surprised at how freely the kindness is given. Unless, it’s not free,” she says the last bit on a worried note, her brows crinkling slightly in the middle.

“Free! Yes, free. I am kind to you because it is the right thing to do, because I want to be. And you are free to refuse anything I offer.” He pulls his hands into his lap and tries to make himself smaller, less intimidating. He really doesn’t know if his size is considered intimidating for elves. He hopes it isn’t intimidating at least, he’s taller than Serahlin, broader too. He knows he’s not  _ small _ , but he’s seen other elves, mostly dragon slayers, who have been bigger, he thinks, than his elven form. But the point is that he doesn’t want her to feel intimidated to accept anything he offers.

Serahlin tilts her head and looks down at the fried eggs. She takes a fork and begins to eat, neat as she was yesterday.

“These are delicious, thank you. Please help yourself as well!” She pushes the basket towards him and he…should eat something, to be polite. He cuts the grapefruit in half and uses one of those little serrated spoons and slowly works on half of the grapefruit. It is very citrusy, and it tickles his tongue, makes his lips thing, but it’s tasty, just… _ small _ .

Serahlin seems to be enjoying the food, which is more important anyways. When she finishes her breakfast, he suggests teaching her how to look for foods around the cottage. They gather berries and he shows her how to catch a rabbit. They cook the hare for lunch and in the afternoon, he decides to build a chicken coop for her. He explains the processes of building it and she surprises him by rolling up her sleeves and helping him build the coop, or at least the frame. Her soft hands are not strong or gifted with the craft, but she is tenacious and determined. He is gentle with his instruction, showing her how to tie the ends up together, how to drive nails into the wood so that the wood doesn’t splinter.

It won’t be ready for chickens for two more days, he estimates, but it’s a good start. He chops some wood for her and she insists on watching to learn. Her determination to be self sufficient is admirable, and she is a quick learner! He has her hold the axe to feel the weight, and he even has her swing it a couple of times.

By the end of the day, she is so tired she flops with an uncharacteristic lack of grace onto the sofa. Her bun is askew, her dress and over robe are dirt smeared and her hands are red and cut from the day’s work. But she never complained; a noble woman who probably has not done any of what she did today, didn’t complain, even with her raw, blistered hands.

Adannar kneels before her and gently takes her hands in his. He sucks in a breath and exhales slowly, letting his healing magic fall over her hands, healing them. She looks down at him, sweet shock on her face.

“You know healing magic?”

He smiles and nods, folding her hands back into her lap, “I make those creatures and in order to do that I need to have at least some knowledge in healing. There will probably be lingering soreness but the blisters and the scrapes I can heal.”

She pauses for a long time, her expression inscrutable before she looks down at her hands, “All day I have been working to learn from you to be independent. And yet at the end of the day, here you are, doing everything for me.”

He blinks, trying to understand, “You are learning. When…when you were a little baby, your parents did all the talking and while they did that, you learned, and eventually you learned how to talk as well. Learning takes time, and I am happy to teach.” If he sounds odd, it’s the desperation. He wants her to stay, but he doesn’t want to guilt her, so he doesn’t say that if he wasn’t here teaching her how to do all these things, he’d be in his workshop, alone.

Her expression turns soft and her cheeks turn pink. He stands up and sets about getting her supper ready. He’s beginning to hunger himself, spending the day shifted and doing manual labor has exhausted him past what he is used to. His creatures had brought a basket full of food earlier for her supper, all it needs is to be warmed and it will be ready. The chicken is set to warm over the fire, next to the kettle which he takes off to make some calming tea.

Once, this wouldn’t be so unusual. Scholars and draconologists would come by and sit with him, speak with him on all sorts of matters. He’d cook for them, sometimes even as a dragon. Once upon a time, he wasn’t so lonely, and maybe he won’t be, not if Serahlin is here. Or at least…he won’t be lonely for at least a little bit. And he’ll make sure to enjoy her company, even if it’s temporary.

When he returns to her to give her the tea, she’s slumped over the edge of the sofa, sound asleep. It seems that she doesn’t need the tea, after all.

Adannar sets the tea aside and takes her carefully into his arms. She shifts some, a sleepy “what?” floating up from her lips but he urges her back to sleep as he carries her upstairs and lays her in the bed. He cleans up and returns to his lair, happier than he has felt in decades.

**

Serahlin doesn’t remember how she got to bed. The last thing she remembers is…Adannar’s smile and the world fading into the Dreaming. She drifted away, exhausted from the day’s activities. Her body aches from the work, but it’s good. In the palace, things like food and warmth were always taken care of for her. She never had to work for those things like most people in the kingdom. It separated her from them and it made her dependent on the staff of the castle.

But still, she doesn’t remember getting into bed. Which means that she was taken to bed, and there is only one person who could have taken her to bed. It may be an irrational fear, but she runs her hands over her body and clothes, checking. Nothing is amiss, and her heart settles. She ought to know better, falling asleep in odd places at the palace was never wise. There were mother’s spies, untrusted diplomats and guards…any number of people who would love to see her…removed disgracefully through equally disgraceful and wrong means.

But Adannar is nothing like the people in the palace. He is kind, warm, the kind of man who breathes magic on her hands and heals them because he doesn’t want her to hurt.

She rises from her bed and brushes out her hair…to find it greasy and disgusting. Oh what she would give for a bath.

Her thoughts must have summoned him, because Serahlin hears the rustling she heard yesterday morning. She pokes her head outside the window to see him standing below, wreathed in the glow of the morning sun.

“Good morning!” He calls.

“Good morning, to you as well. I don’t suppose you have a place where I can bathe?”

He startles and nods quickly, “I am so sorry! How remiss of me to forget something so vital. Yes, of course. There is a room on the side of the cottage, at the back, I’ll have it filled with a tub and water for you quickly!”

“Oh if there is a well or a pump or something, you can show me how to do it, I don’t want to put you out,” she says. He waves her off and she can see his broad smile even from her position and sleepy eyes.

“Don’t worry! But if you are interested, I will show you how to use the well.” She smiles down at him before closing the window and putting her hair up, so he doesn’t see how awful it is. Unfortunately, she has no perfumes to disguise the smell most likely emanating from her, how embarrassing.

She goes downstairs and outside, joining Adannar by the side of the cottage. He has a bucket in one hand, the other gestures for her to follow him. The well is around the back of the cottage, behind a shrubbery that Adannar contemplates.

“This was not here the last time I was here,” he says, holding a hand out to the plant. It’s a prickly green…thing. Plants were never something that captured her interest, but he seems very interested in this seemingly plain shrub.

“The well, Adannar? The shrub can be removed later.”

“What? Remove it? No, no need, I was just…sometimes I get caught up. The well! Right, it’s here.” They move around the bush to the well. He attaches the bucket to a hook, then pulls on the ropes, lowering the bucket down. She hears a splash and then Adannar is tugging the rope in the opposite direction. His sleeves fall back, revealing his arms. Muscular arms. She doesn’t know why she wouldn’t have expected that, just…his robes are very billowy and obscure his form, so unlike the clothing she is accustomed to.

Thankfully, the blush is faint and quick and she helps him bring the full bucket over the edge of the well, hauling it back to the cottage. He leads her into a side room only accessible from the outside where an iron tub waits. They empty the bucket, then return to the well.

It takes several trips to fill the tub to a sufficient height, and she makes one last trip to have a spare bucket for washing her hair. A mechanical heron flies down and hands her a basket full of bathing oils and soaps, all beautifully, if subtly, scented.

Adannar runs his hand across the face of the tub, activating a warming rune. In minutes, steam rises from the tub and Adannar leaves her to the bath.

When she steps into the old tub, she sighs. It seems no matter what the tub is made from, or how the water was gathered, or who drew the bath, baths are and always be wonderful things. The tension is slowly worked out of her body as the heat sinks into her.

Serahlin lingers in the bath, luxuriating in it. She washes her hair and feels immediate relief. When she leaves the bath, most likely more than an hour later, she is scrubbed almost raw, but she is radiant and  _ clean _ .

She dons the yellow dress in the wardrobe, and lets her hair hang low and wet, but she doesn’t care. For the first time in…ever, she doesn’t care. Adannar’s smile is just as broad, just as  _ happy  _ to see her, face reddened from the steam and the soap, hair undone, and who knows how fashionable this dress is.

“You look much happier!”

“I feel much better, thank you. Where did you get those soaps and oils?”

He blushes and shrugs, “I have many hobbies.”

“Your hobbies are very useful, though I suppose necessity breeds a willingness to do. They were very nice, thank you.”

He inclines his head before gesturing to the table, where there is a spread of food. He seems intent on feeding her again, it seems. Though she’s not complaining by ay means! He is being so good, so good that she almost wants him to stop because she feels terrible. Terrible for being so useless and dependent on his hospitality and knowledge. Back home, it would be expected she would at the very least  _ pay  _ him, but she’s not back at home and she doesn’t have any money so…she feels terrible instead.

They eat breakfast, or rather brunch by this point, together then head back out into the woods. He has her hold a bow and sets up targets on trees. Finally, something she has some familiarity with! She had lessons as a girl, basic archery lessons along with basic swordplay. But even with her basic archery skills, she doesn’t hit the targets straight on, she’s off and it requires gentle correcting on Adannar’s part.

After archery lessons come foraging lessons. He directs her to what appears to be remnants of an old apple orchard, now overgrown with other trees. They’re ungroomed, and the apples are ripe for picking, so they pick many.

The basket is filled with mostly apples by afternoon, so they return back to the cottage. She eats an apple while Adannar prepares the chicken the chicken they were going to eat last night.

“We should finish the chicken coup tomorrow, and then I can bring chickens! They’re a little smelly, fair warning,” he says, bringing her a plate.

She chuckles, “The wood is smellier than what I am accustomed to, I will adjust to the chickens.”

“I am glad that you are adjusting, and so gracefully as well.”

“I see no point in making a fuss about doing things that must be done. I am here, I must learn how to survive, expecting it to be like…like where I am from is irrational and impractical.” She enjoys frivolity, a good bit of it, but she is not without rational thought and an extreme appreciation for practical things. Elvara was always the one complaining about learning even some basics, like self-defense swordplay and the little bit of archery instruction they received. She was such a frivolous, self-centered, oblivious person. And despite everything, Serahlin misses her, misses her assertions that everything would turn out well because it  _ had  _ to. It was blind optimism fueled by self-centric thinking, but sometimes it helped. Serahlin would get caught in the details, Elvara was more of a big picture person, happy to leave the details to people who actually cared about them.

Elvara would not have survived this, but is she surviving the palace right now? Everything Serahlin learned was in the details, all the hints to what was going on…. But maybe it was her knowledge that put a target on her back to begin with, and maybe Elvara’s obliviousness can keep her safe enough to survive. How long can that keep her alive though?

How long can Serahlin stay here and run from the storm? How can she return with…nothing but herself? It’s not enough, she’s lucky to be alive at all.

“Serahlin? Is everything all right?” Adannar’s voice rouses her from her thoughts and she blink away the memories of her sister and the palace. And the knight.

“Oh, yes, my apologies. My mind wandered for a moment.” She reaches for the wine and takes a generous sip. Adannar’s expression softens.

“I understand, I am prone to that as well. Do you wish to talk about whatever is on your mind?” His tone is soft, understanding, and yet the question is direct.

She shakes her head slightly, “No, but thank you for your concern. I…I think I am going to retire for the evening, thank you for everything,” she says, rising from the table. Adannar nods and stands with her.

“Good night, I hope your thoughts turn for the better,” he says, cheerful, happy even, as he packs up the remains of dinner. She walks him out and bids him a good night before walking upstairs and changing into her night clothes.

Elvara is only three years younger than her. It’s an unheard-of age difference, most are only allowed to have multiple children after waiting…almost an entire century. But no, their mother decided that she wanted another baby, little Serahlin was…well, she wanted another baby, so she had one. It was a ridiculous abuse of power and prestige. Many believed it would either bring Serahlin and Elvara closer, or it would tear them apart.

Judging by where Serahlin is now, she’d say it’s the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. The Princess Was Very Proper

The next day, Adannar and Serahlin finish building the chicken coop and the rest of the day is spent introducing the chickens to their new home and Serahlin to the chickens. He teaches her how to care for the birds and sets up a little caravan of sorts to deliver feed from his home to hers. The mechanical creatures watch them as they handle the chickens, curious. Serahlin is still acclimating to the creatures and is still easily unnerved by them. But she’s polite and doesn’t say anything untoward. Adannar thinks it would take a great deal to make Serahlin break any sort of decorum.

She’s a proper lady, after all.

Days pass in a similar fashion. He comes and helps, and they talk. She’s still largely a mystery to him, and she doesn’t give much away other than she lived in a  _ palace _ . So not just a lady, but potentially a princess.

After two weeks, Adannar shows up at the cottage, as usual, with a basket of breakfast. Serahlin is already awake and working on the garden they planted last week. She stands up to greet him and the hem of her skirt catches on a bramble, ripping it. Oh dear.

But Serahlin doesn’t look so much as disheartened as annoyed.

“These dresses are beautiful, Adannar, but I keep tearing them. I don’t suppose you have any breeches?” She hefts the skirts up to around her knees and walks awkwardly to Adannar.

“I do have breeches, I can fetch some if you’d like,” he offers, setting the basket of food down on the outside table they built a few days ago.

“Oh you don’t have to go  _ now  _ –

“It’s no trouble! I will leave you to breakfast and go fetch your breeches and then we can be about the day.” He doesn’t mind the running back and forth, or flying really, especially if it means Serahlin will continue to look at him like that. With kind gratitude, gracing him with a smile and a light expression he’s only recently been treated to. In the weeks Serahlin has spent here, she has grown from suspicious to politely reserved to happily smiling at him in greeting, not caring if she stumbles over a rock in the garden or not. It’s a surprising transformation, one that has endeared him greatly to her.

“I do know how to sew, the only practical thing I know, but I know it. If I just had cloth and needle –

“Really, Serahlin, it is no trouble. But I will bring you what you need to sew.” He opens the basket and pulls out a loaf of bread he baked through the night. She hesitates, and he knows he has her. Bread, any princess’s weakness.

He leaves her to her breakfast and rushes off to the glen where he can shift and fly quickly to his lair. He launched himself up into the air and travels at great speed. The wind is with him this morning and helps him along to the lone mountain.

He raids the wardrobes filled with clothes, taking out the slimmest of the breeches. Before the days of the knights and their propaganda, Adannar hosted researchers and other dragons. Sometimes at the same time. Both groups required changes of clothes and over the years, he accrued quite the collection. They’re mostly basic style leather breeches, a few cloth types, but the leather is better, it’ll provide better protection and wear for Serahlin as she traipses about her new home.

Adannar packs a bag then heads back, the bag delicately balanced on a claw. He lands back in the glen and shifts. He’s wearing breeches himself, today, along with a longer style tunic. He is in a good mood when he returns to Serahlin, but the smile on his face quickly disappears when he spies her terrified expression.

“Adannar!” She cries, running quickly to him. All sense of propriety must have left her in that moment, because she flings her arms around him in a crushing hug.

“Ser-Serahlin?” He asks, shocked at the sudden contact. He drops the bag and returns the hug, wrapping his arms around her slim body. It has been…a long time since he has had this much contact with someone with a beating heart. There are spirits, his creatures, but Serahlin is warm, solid,  _ breathing _ . He feels her breath on him as she holds him tight.

“I saw that dragon and feared the worst! It was all I could do to hide in the cottage and hope for your safe return.” She holds onto him tight and her concern over him is so heartfelt and touching.

He leans into her touch, “The dragon does not bother me, but your concern and hugging is very welcome.” She stiffens at that and pulls back quickly, hands covering her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to impose! I was so relieved to see your return, I…I must have lost control,” she explains. Adannar laughs and gently takes her hands down from her face.

“There is no worry. It has been a long time since I’ve been touched, any surprise from it is good.” He holds her hands so that they are between his larger ones in a comforting way he once saw of elven researchers that were visiting him.

A blush colors Serahlin’s cheeks, “Still, I let my emotions overcome me. I would never have done this back home…”

“You are not there, you are safe to feel whatever you wish to feel here,” he explains.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, averting her gaze. She pulls her hands free of his and he lets her go without resistance. He can understand her being reluctant to be more open with him, that run and hug and sudden expression was so unlike the Serahlin he has come to know. But it was still  _ her _ , just a her that wasn’t worried about expression or judgement.

“The clothes!” He remembers, grabbing the bag off the ground. He hands it over to her, “I hope at least one of them fit, if not…we’ll see about stitching something together that does.” She takes the bag and thanks him before darting into the cottage.

Adannar occupies himself by the chicken coop. No chicks, yet, those eggs still have a couple of weeks to hatch, but the rest of the chickens seem happy enough. They have a large enclosure, nice places for roosting – it’s good. They unfortunately can’t let the chickens be free range, too many foxes and other predators around to let them out. He reaches in the bag of feed and tosses it out to them. The birds flock to the food even though they’ve already been fed.

The back-door cracks open and Serahlin steps out, bedecked in her new tunic and breeches. Her hair is pulled into a braided bun and she looks ready to conquer the world. Or at least the forest.

When she first arrived, Adannar knew she was beautiful. Physical beauty is easy, however. There are many in this world who are beautiful. But she has shown to be so much more than that. She is compassionate, tenacious, and despite her upbringing, not arrogant or condescending.

Buoyed by the emotions she brought to the surface with her hug, Adannar beams and walks up to take her hand.

“You look spectacular, the breeches were a wonderful idea.”

She smiles back, “Thank you. I haven’t worn breeches much before, just for my archery lessons. Mother did not believe learning other forms of combat befitted our station – ‘we have people for that, Serahlin.’” She stops suddenly, “and that is not appropriate, I don’t know what has gotten into me today.”

“It’s the forest! It’s Improper Day, the deer are the chasing the wolves, it’s all very wacky,” he says, and she chuckles.

“My mother would never hear of such a day. Heavens forbid someone was ever improper to  _ her _ .” Her eyes grow distant and she looks at the way she came a month and a half ago. Adannar moves from around the coop to stand by her.

“You do not have to worry about propriety here. I have been alone so long that I don’t even really know what el-  _ people _ find proper. I’ve been trying to be proper with you, but I’ve mostly been guessing.” He shrugs and gives her a smile. She faces him and her expression turns less wistful.

“You are surprisingly proper for a hermit living in the forest.” Her compliment is sweet and he feels just a tad bashful at it. Compliments were usually levied at him for his draconic form – grand, great, majestic. He’s even been mistakenly called fearsome, but not proper, and not with the soft eyes like Serahlin’s. The expressions he’s inspired in the past ranged mostly from fear to awe, even to pointed mirth, but not gratitude or softness.

Adannar reaches forward and takes her hand.

“I want to show you something.” He leads her down the steps and into the forest. She laughs as they jog along, a free and happy sound.

“I am glad I am wearing breeches and boots for this! Where are we going?” She calls. He guides her past the glen he transforms in then to a bubbling creek.

“It’s a surprise!” He calls back. She laughs and continues to jog with him, following his movements. While dragons grow and stop at maturity overly changing in physicality, the forest is constantly changing. Learning its ways is as much knowledge as much as an art. To run like this means to know how the forest is, all the places to step, places to not step. He guides her through it, not going as quickly as he can, but quick enough to make Serahlin’s face flush and her breathing deepen. She tugs on his sleeve halfway to their destination.

“Stop, stop, I need to catch my breath,” she pants, leaning against a tree. His own breathing is labored but it’s not much for him. If anything, the exertion feels good, he hasn’t done anything like this in so long. He’d laze around his lair, motivation to do anything reaching zero. He looks to her, her breaths slowly evening out as she catches her breath. Serahlin has been a catalyst to how’s he felt these last few weeks. She reminded him of himself in a way. He’s taken to working on his creatures, actually building new ones, after he leaves her each evening. The lair is slowly getting put back in order and he wants to thank Serahlin. As much as she says he’s done for her, he feels she’s done for him as well.

“Normally we stroll through the forest. Change can be good, but this is quite sudden,” she says after her breath returns.

“I want to show you something specific, to thank you.” He takes her hand again and she grows curious, pushing off from the tree to step closer to him.

“Thank me? I should be the one thanking you.”

He can’t truly answer her, so instead and he moves closer and raises his free hand to gently caress her cheek. She swallows and lips part. His ears can hear her heart, once close to rest now speeding up again before they even begin moving.

He pulls his hand away slowly. They resume traveling through the forest, but at a more reasonable pace. She doesn’t speak again, but she holds his hand fast and lingers close. He helps her over the now stream and in only half an hour, her ears twitch and she looks westward.

“Is that…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. Adannar only smiles in response before leading her the rest of the way. He pulls fronds apart and she gasps at the beauty before her.

The waterfall – a great pillar of falling water from one of the highest of the cliffs outside of the mountain range proper. The cliff was covered in a special rock, one that only few could tell was special. To most, the stone appeared average and dull, but he could see it for what it was – an iridescent rock that revealed itself under the right magic. What appears to be dull is actually shining, browns and blues swirling together, making the water shine and appear almost like it’s moving. The pool of water at the bottom is blue, tinged with magic and reflecting the blue of the rock at the bottom.

This waterfall is older than he is. Before light, before dark, before feeling anything, he knew this waterfall and the joy it brought to the animals and people around it. A source of water and beauty, a wonder unlike any other. He remembers seeing for the first time the turquoise and copper colors meeting and feeling so pure and light.

“It is amazing, I…” Serahlin steps forward, down the bank, letting his hand go as she approaches the pool. Can she see it? The colors, the magic? He wants her to, he realizes, he wants her to see the magic that is so close to him, even if it is no longer him. He is no longer Joy, but this…this is part of him. Even he can’t tell her what he is, not yet, at least, he can show her where he began. She doesn’t know it is his beginning, but…he can know enough for them both right now.

Serahlin is totally dwarfed by the enormity of the waterfall but she doesn’t look out of place as she strides down the bank to the water.

“The water has some healing properties. I have woken up with a sore back and a dip in here later, I’m no longer sore,” he says as she dips her hand into the water. When she pulls her hand back she marvels at the loss of the cut on her finger from earlier in the morning. A chicken had bitten her, hard enough to draw blood, and now it’s gone.

“This is…how does something like this exist and we don’t know about it?” She says and something in Adannar clenches in fear. He is fine to share the waterfall, it is just that…it once was bottled and sold as healing tonics. The mystical waters of the Copper Falls, but the property leaves once it leaves the pool. The magic is in the rock, not in the water, that is why.

“A dragon lives in these woods, many see that and do not brave the forest, even if there is this,” he says. It’s true. Many take his living here as a ward against any further excursion. And while it has resulted in his loneliness, it has benefitted the forest. The waterfall is left undisturbed, trees are not cut, animals are not hunted to their breaking point.

But dragons  _ are _ .

Adannar pushes such thoughts from his mind. This is a good thing, he wants her to be happy seeing this, not morose, and he certainly does not want to dwell on such thoughts. This is a joyous place.

He joins her by the water’s edge. It is an unseasonably warm day, even if they are rapidly approaching spring. The water is beautiful and he knows it is cool. Perhaps it is his draconic blood that makes him run warm, but he longs for a swim.

Sudden nudity for swimming, however, is most likely improper, and he does not wish to make Serahlin any more uncomfortable than she has been.

“I’m beginning to wonder if the dragon is the menace my people has made it out to be,” she confesses and his heart stops.

“Truly?” She nods, then rises from the bank. She walks along the water’s edge, watching colorful fish below the surface.

“It does not bother you, and we are quite deep within the forest now. This waterfall is magical, surely something a dragon would like to protect – yet nothing. I have not been menaced. Only early in the morning do I hear what could be the thunderous sound of wings in the air.”

And Adannar thought she could not surprise him any further. Perhaps…eventually…. What a hope! He offers his arm to her and she takes it. As they walk, he tells her about the area. The waterfall and pool feed into the river down here, but the river continues up beyond the ledge where the water comes crashing down. This waterfall is one of many in a series, it just happens to be the largest. At the top of the mountains are hot springs, surrounded by snow.

“My curiosity is too much, I must know – is there a hidden cave behind the waterfall?” She asks, and he looks down at her. She’s all flushed and smiling, embarrassed but also full of humor.

“Nothing but smooth rock, what a thing to ask,” he answers.

She laughs, leaning into him, “All the adventure stories I used to read all seemed to have secret caves behind the waterfalls. Perhaps a cove filled with treasure, or a hollow where lovers would meet.”

He cocks his head to the side, smiling as he speaks, “There is nothing behind the waterfall, but there is a passage in the side of the pool – it leads to an underground river.” She turns to him, bright faced and excited.

“Really?”

“Really!” He doesn’t mention that said underground river leads to a specific lone mountain in the foothills of the range, but she does not need to know yet. He laughs and nods instead, patting her hand on his arm. “Bioluminescent creatures call that river home, it’s beautiful.”

Her replying expression is equal parts wonder and incredulousness.

**

“How do you know all this?” Serahlin asks. He is a bounty of information and knowledge, the kind only few of her tutors had been. And even then, he seems to know more than a few of them.

“I have lived out here for a long time. There is a great deal to do when you are alone,” he says but his voice wavers slightly and something tickles the back of her neck. Just as it does when someone is telling a lie. Her brow furrows and she stops walking, retracting her hand from his arm.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asks softly, giving him a chance because she wants to believe anything but the worst. But old fears die hard and she feels like there are a thousand eyes on her, just as it was at the palace. Everyone had watched, forced her to play in sick games that only hurt people.

He stops and turns to her, brow pulled together in concern, “Serahlin, I –

She doesn’t let him finish, “You are not from my land, are you?” She asks softly. He shakes his head and she drops his hand.

“And what? Are you from there? Did they send you? Are you just waiting to take me back just when I grow to trust you?” She accuses, getting ready to run. Dammit she knew this was too good to be true, she should never have trusted him she should –

“I was a spirit,” he says and everything stops. Her heart, her mind, her body – everything. His shoulders droop and he drops his head so that she can’t see his face. People who used to be spirits are rare, they only form from powerful emotions and where magic has pooled. It’s not unheard of, but she has only met one other former spirit – her non-Queen mother.

He looks out to the waterfall, gesturing to it dejected, “I formed here, from the joy experienced by the animals and any passerby at seeing this place. I wandered the area as a spirit for hundreds of years before forming my body. I am not from your land, I’m not from another either, however. I am from here, and I wanted to share that with you.”

Serahlin cannot speak. How horrible of her! She can’t…she assumed the worst immediately, ready to run, and here he was simply trying to share this with her. Her heart falls as he turns away from her. She does not feel like he is lying and…it would make sense. She has heard that former spirits like to remain close to where they originated. Memae remained close to the capital, even though it meant her eventual demise, but whether that was because of her origination or her daughters, Serahlin doesn’t know.

She steps forward. Tentatively taking Adannar’s hand, she joins him in looking down at the shimmering water. The fish are a riot of moving rainbows beneath the surface, reflecting light and color.

“I am sorry, I should not have assumed…you have been so good to me, I owed you the benefit of the doubt.”

Adannar looks down at her. His eyes look suddenly very old and the expression in them is inscrutable.

“Thank you. I understand why you are scared, though, political monsters can be some of the most vicious. You are not the first to seek asylum in this forest.”

A silence more awkward and tense than any of their previous stretches before them. She wants to apologize more but she also wants to let him feel. If she were back home, the proper thing to do would to leave him to his room, allow him to feel however he wished then apologize with a gift. Or food. But she has no gift and no food and they not back home.

So Serahlin tries something else.

“My memae was a spirit. Diligence, she was the head of my mamae’s guard – it’s how they met. The…political monsters killed her and my mamae did not stop them.” It is improper to reveal such intimate details of one’s life, but they are far from home. When he looks down at her, eyes softer, she knows she made the right decision.

“I was Joy.”

She gives him her best smile and reaches up to touch his cheek.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Adannar, formerly Joy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. There Once Was A Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Venavismi and this interpretation of Sylaise belong to Feynite. Ana belongs to lycheepit.

“The dragons grow stronger every year, and we must grow stronger still to stem their tide,” his lady says as she strolls through the wood. He nods as well as he can in his bulky ceremonial armor. He doesn’t understand why she insisted on  _ this  _ armor for this excursion, but he is hardly in any position to contradict her wishes.

“Of course, my lady, I endeavor to demonstrate the strength of the empire,” he says, earning a nod in approval.

“Good, I will need that strength. It is only a little further if the map was correct. If it was not, I will be very cross.”

“I will have the cartographer brought to you immediately,” he concurs. The area is nice, for being wooded and far from the comforts of the palace and city. The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the greenery in a soft glow. They pass through sharp shadows that make the white of his lady’s gown look more sinister than shining and pure. When she turns to look at him, her face is hidden half by shadow, and sharply lit by refracted light, catching the sharp angles of her cheeks and brow.

“There is no need, I see what I am looking for,” she says. Oh good, he was hoping this would be a quick mission. Take her to this mystical place then let her do her thing and then get back to camp. He doesn’t like being out here in ceremonial garb instead of working armor. Sure, he looks good, he always looks good, but he’d much rather prefer to be wearing his plate and mail. With each step, they near dragon territory, and he cannot fight a  _ dragon  _ should it happen to be out in this. He’d die, she’d die – and where would the empire be then?

She steps into a small clearing, surrounded by a copse of barren shrubs. Thorns and brambles stick out menacingly and threaten to catch her dress, but she somehow manages to enter the clearing without a scratch. He steps as she does, careful not to touch the thorns.

There is a large, flat boulder in the middle of the clearing. A wave of foreboding wafts of it, making him itch to bare his blade. But his lady reaches out, staying his hand.

“I have searched long for such a place. Can you feel it? The magic pools here.” She walks around the boulder, hand in the air, apparently feeling the magic. He is not sure what he feels, if it is magic or not, but he believes that she feels it or something.

“Great warriors of the past came here. They sought strength and it was given to them, they need only pay the price.” She rounds the boulder and approaches him, taking his hand once more. Despite the growing sense of wrongness in his gut, he allows her to guide him to the boulder. She sits upon it, looking up at him.

Her hand lifts and brushes gently across his cheek, “You have been a great and staunch ally, my darling Venavismi. I thank you for your service.”

“It is my greatest honor to serve you, my lady,” he says, bowing. She does him great honor but why here? He straightens his back and it is only a brief moment before he hears the  _ shing _ of metal being pulled out its sheath. A briefer moment after that before he feels the blade shoved into his gut.

The air is pushed out of his lungs on a gasp in shock. A deep, cold pain surges through him, and he falls. Sylaise directs the fall to the boulder, laying him out on it. Only then does he realize that the sense of foreboding he felt was the magic she spoke of.

He shakes as he feels his heart pump out blood through the wound in his abdomen. His lady is chanting something, arms raised, but he cannot hear anything as the shock and magic dull his senses.

She is a shadowed figure in his sight, and after what feels like hours, she bends over him once more.

“You have served your lady wonderfully,” she tells him before she disappears. Pain sinks into him, pain that must be the magic – sacrificial blood magic, summoned to augment his lady with his life. Forbidden, ancient magicks that have no right to be performed.

And yet here is stabbed and bleeding to death. It isn’t right. This isn’t what he wanted for his life – he is young, he has so much to give. An image of ruby red eyes and hair white as snow fills his mind, and it is just enough to push him to move. And fall off the boulder into the dirt. Pain shocks through him but he also feels a snap. Is it the magic? There is too much for him to properly tell.

In a great act of strength, he pushes himself to his feet. He staggers the first step and nearly falls again, only managing to catch himself on a dead tree. Thorns stab into his hand, but he is able to stable himself and push forward out of the clearing. The magic draws on him, then snaps again. This time, he does fall, feeling weak from the blood loss. Dammit. Damn it all.

He needs to…not die. He has a prickly man to annoy and a life to look forward to, not death. He struggles back to his feet for a few more staggered stride, only to fall to his knees, chest heaving from the effort. More blood flows from the wound. Pressure, he needs…pressure. But he has nothing to apply pressure with!

He doesn’t even know where he is going, just…away from that place. He crawls to soft grass, to a darker place, cooler than the rest.

As much as he wants to cling to life, death comes swiftly for him. Vena manages to rolls to his back, looking up at the soft canopy of a willow tree. A pretty place to die, at least. His hand finds his wound. The blood has soaked his shirt through.

_ Always looked good in red, _ he thinks distantly, deliriously. The edges of his vision begin blur and it must be the blood loss, but he sees a figure up in the canopy of the tree. Green glowing eyes peer down at him. And it is not pain that he feels in that moment, but relief. It is all he knows before the darkness consumes him.

**

There is a bleeding man under her tree.

She cannot recall the last time a man was under her tree. Has a man ever been under her tree? There have been dragons and nymphs and even a visiting gorgon, but never a man, she thinks. They are too wary normally. But this man in all of his dying sense must have not seen the point to stay away.

And he is dying. There is little point in concealing her nature from him. She emerges from her tree and stares down at him just as he loses the fight with consciousness. In overwhelming curiosity, she leaps down next to the man to inspect him.

Her hands have only touched him when she yelps and jerks her hands away. Oh no, oh no, no, no, no. He is a  _ sacrifice _ from that horrific place. She’s been trying to cultivate over it, but old sinister magicks do not die easily. But upon further inspection she finds that the magicks do not have that strong ahold on him. The ritual was not complete, he fled it somehow, and made it to her tree.

That in itself is compelling enough for her to help. She harnesses her magic and removes the odd garments his wearing, revealing the nasty wound in his abdomen. He is covered in blood and pale, so, so pale.

She checks the wound and makes a list of the herbs she needs – she keeps a stash of them up in the tree. It is only a quick few hops up into the branches, then a leap down before she is treating him. The bleeding stops, the dark magic dissipates, and all that is left is to hope.

Summoning more of her magic to her, she lifts the man into her arms and manages to hide him away on one of the thicker branches of her tree. The canopy shields him from view.

By morning, his breathing is even, and she is hopeful he will make it.

**

When no sudden strength comes to her, Sylaise wonders if something went awry with the ritual. She had researched, or had her closest advisers research, endlessly to find this place and this ritual. She was  _ certain  _ it would work.

“I wish to visit the place I lost him,” she tells one of her guard. They nod and bring a few others with them as she leads the way back to the altar. She expects to see a corpse or bones, a bloody spot, maybe.

Instead, there is nothing. No bones, no body, no blood. The clearing is empty, and the magic she had felt so strongly before is gone.

“No,” she murmurs, “ _ no _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please go check out my friends' writing! They're super awesome and if you like my stuff, you'll love theirs!


	5. The Man and the Strange Tree Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vena belongs to Feynite and Ana belongs to lycheepit <3

Vena’s body hurts, which is weird considering he’s dead. Shouldn’t the afterlife be free of pain? Or did he really screw up and end up in a bad place?

He slowly opens his eyes and sees…leaves. Lots of hanging leaves. It’s then that he realizes he is in some sort of a tree, smooth leaves and rough bark pressing into his back. It is not the source of his pain, however, that is coming from where he had been…well, shanked.

He tries to sit up when he hears a rustling. Before he can react, there is a slim woman with long ears, similar to an elf’s but longer and leafier in appearance, leaning over him. Her eyes are a verdant green, and they make him think of the small wood behind the butcher’s house in the town he grew up in. Her red hair cascades around her and he thinks that he must have done something _good_ to be greeted by her in this strange afterlife.

“You’re awake!” She exclaims, and her voice is like music from the earth, grounded yet sweet. Where he is getting these affiliations, he does not know, maybe it’s the effect of dying.

“The afterlife is quite beautiful,” he says, smirking at her. She startles and blinks, her eyebrows pulling together in an adorable scrunch.

“What?”

“It’s okay, I know I died. Happens when you get stabbed by your boss,” he sighs and attempts to reach his arms back, flex his abs a bit, only for the pain to shoot through him again. “Gah!”

“You…you’re not dead! What a silly thing to think!” She sputters before bending over him. And oh, he is naked, very naked. Well, he hopes she enjoys the view.

“No need to play a game, I’m dead, it happens.” He grunts as she pokes around the wound.

“That is very maudlin, and not true! I stopped the bleeding, I healed the deeper parts, your skin is almost totally knit back together. I used the plants and they agreed to heal you!” She declares, sounding very stubborn and almost put out by the notion that he is indeed dead.

“The plants agreed…?”

“Yes, the plants agreed you shouldn’t die, so they helped me.”

The afterlife makes no sense, he decides, but he’s here, might as well go with it. “You are very cute, with your red hair and your talking plants.”

She turns a bright shade of red and looks away from him for a moment.

“You are clearly delirious, it must be the Arbor Blessing. Eat this, please,” she says. He opens his mouth to protest but she just shoves a mushroom into his mouth. It is weird and bitter and makes him salivate and flinch. He attempts to take it out, but she bats away his hand.

“It’s for healing! Now chew.”

He takes it back, he clearly did something wrong. He chews the mushroom and she prompts him to swallow. He shivers as it goes down and frowns deeply at her.

“That was disgusting,” he protests.

“Healing is not always a pleasant experience, but it is much preferable to the alternative.” She pokes at the wound again and he flinches back.

“Ow!”

She pulls back and looks sheepish, “I don’t mean to cause you pain.” He barely hears her at his heartrate begins to pick up. He’s…he’s not dead, is he. He’s really alive. Then that means…he can’t go back to the empire. He’s _supposed_ to be dead, and if he goes back he will _really_ become dead.

And he is in a strange tree with a strange tree woman who talks to plants.

“Oh dear, you’re panicking. Um, stop panicking?”

“I’m not dead,” he says and she nods.

“You’re very much alive!”

“Fuck,” he whispers, his body trembling. Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit_. What is he going to do? He’s in a strange forest with a strange woman, butt naked. He doesn’t even know where his sword is!

“Maybe the delusions were better, you are very upset.”

“Well, yeah!” He says.

“…Did you want to die?” She asks softly, sweetly too.

“No!”

“Then I am very confused,” she says. Yeah, he guesses that would be confusing. But not dying when he was supposed to die now makes his life…difficult. Weird how that works out, really. And he doesn’t really feel like he can totally talk about it either, this woman is clearly not from the empire, so she wouldn’t get it.

“It’s complicated?” He offers instead and she sighs.

“Sounds like it, but I for one and glad you are not dead.”

“Small favors,” he whispers and she pokes his shoulder.

“Small? You were nearly dead! You would have died if it were not for me! Whoever did this to you did this to gain power, right?” She asks and he waves his left hand.

“Yes? Maybe? I don’t know.”

“You were stabbed at the Offering Alter? The one where everything looks dead, there’s a creepy boulder in the middle of it?” He nods at her question.

“You must have crawled from there and ended up under my tree. And whoever did this didn’t get the power they wanted, which is good. I don’t think you should trust people who stab other people.”

“Astute for a strange forest woman,” he murmurs. She gives him a _look_ and returns her attention to his wound. She reaches over and a branch _moves_. That is…that’s not supposed to happen. She lifts something from the branch and proceeds to press it to his skin making it burn.

“Aaaah!” He hisses.

She doesn’t let up and after a moment the burning stops. Vena exhales and leans his head back, looking up at the dangling leaves. It’s a willow tree, he remember one that grew in his home town. It was a great, majestic thing. He liked to climb up into it when he was hiding from his parents, hidden by the cascade of leaves and vines. He mourned when they tore it down for a new store building. They said it was just a tree, but it was _his_ tree.

This tree is bigger and clearly magical. It makes his skin tingle and not just because of the beautiful, almost naked woman who likes to poke at his stab wound. It is like there a perpetual breeze ruffling the leaves and branches, brushing against his skin. It is not good or bad, it just…is.

Vena exhales and allows his eyes to close as he feels the magic flow around him. Strange, but not unpleasant.

“What is your name?” The woman asks.

“Venavismi, my friends call me Vena,” he answers without opening his eyes.

“What do you want me to call you?”

“What have you been calling me?”

“….The man. I have never seen one of you up so close before.” She admits and _that_ makes his eyes open. He lifts his head and looks down at her, arching a brow while a grin breaks over his face.

“Oh, I am _the_ man,” he says. She blushes again then levels him with a look like an old nanny of his, a look that was always followed by a stern but loving _Oh, Vena._

“So, what does your inspection reveal?” He’d like to wiggle his hips but even thought of that moving his abdomen is painful.

“You are very vulnerable to stabbings and have no magic.” He can’t really dispute that.

“And what is your name? I can’t keep calling you Strange Tree Woman, now can I?”

“Of course not! I am not…I am a female dryad but I am not one of your magic-less women.”

Oh, interesting, if only he knew what in the world a dryad _is._

“What should I call you, Female-Dryad-Who-Is-Not-A-Magic-less-Woman?”

She purses her lips, “You are very annoying.”

“I prefer endearing. Do you not want me to know your name? Oh! Are you like a fairy? If I learn your name I get power over you or something.”

“What absolute nonsense! Fairies are _much_ smaller than me!”

Because _that_ is what is nonsensical about this whole situation, Vena’s absurd ideas about the size of fairies.

“And my name is Ana,” she says at last.

“Ana? That’s nice…Ana, Ana-bo-bana.”

“What is a…bo-bana?” She tilts her head to the side in an adorable display of confusion, making his grin turn more into a smile.

“It’s a rhyme! Just for fun.”

“Oh! So like…Vena-bo-bena?”

“Just like Vena-bo-bena!” He laughs and she smiles and he thinks, perhaps, not dying wasn’t the worst thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. The Dragon and the Princess Grew Close

After the day at the waterfall, Adannar starts taking Serahlin places.

It’s only every few days since there is work to be done for her to survive sufficiently on her own. It is a goal he supports, even if he knows that she may choose to not spend as much time with him afterwards. She deserves her independence, she’s worked for it, and he doesn’t want to forcefully spend time with her anyways. Her choice makes the time better.

He takes her to a great tree, first. The Great Tree, to be exact. An old spirit of Content possessed it a millennium ago, and it has remained here ever since, growing to a gargantuan size. An old hollowed voice rings from it, greeting Adannar in an equally old tongue. Serahlin doesn’t realize what it says is a greeting, but she marvels at it all the same. She touches its bark with respectful reverence, more polite than even some of the scholars Adannar knew hundreds of years ago.

“Content, perhaps you could show our guest your view?” He requests.

In the old tongue, Content replies, “ _Has she not ridden upon your back yet? Oh, you have not told her. Very well, I will show her.”_ A thick branch slowly lowers to in front of Serahlin.

She glances back at him for reassurance. He smiles and gestures for her to climb onto the branch. Adannar joins her, and slowly they are lifted up to another branch. Content guides them to the canopy in this manor, having them climb aboard semi-mobile branches until they sit perched atop the tree, looking out around them.

The sun is low in the sky, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange and blue. The tops of the trees all stop below Content, their leaves soft and pliant as the cool air of the afternoon swirls around them. Serahlin’s hair loosens from its tie and sways with the wind, but she does not seem to mind as she leans her head back, eyes closed, and smiling in enjoyment. It is an entrancing image of her, leaning back and enjoying the natural magic of the forest. _She_ is entrancing.

His heart clenches. There is no beauty like hers, no heart, no person whose eyes shine so brightly when discovering something new. And there is nothing more natural for him at this point to love her, even in secret, even if she does not return the sentiment. He loves her, and he is happy to even know that. To know her.

He wants to tell her, but fear holds him back still. She isn’t ready to know quite yet. He wants her to know him before…before potentially running from him. It is selfish, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to change course.

He takes her home after the sun sets. He takes her hands in his at the door to the cottage. She is looking up at him with a soft expression that makes his heart melt and oh, how he loves her. He lifts her hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles before wishing her a good night. He steps away but does not hear the door close, and when he turns around, he sees her watching him, her cheeks almost as pink as her eyes.

Adannar lifts his hand in the air, waving goodnight as he slips into the forest. His nocturnal creations skitter through the night, joining him as he heads back to his home.

There are other places he can take her to, like the meadow and he can even see about showing her some of the crystal caves in the mountains. He wants her to enjoy living her and to know that even though she is far from her home court and palace, she is still surrounded by beauty.

He goes through more of his storage, finding more beautiful clothing to give her. The breeches he had given her earlier were fairly basic, mostly in beiges and browns, along with white shirts. But now he finds the more colorful garments – pinks, greens, blues, even a few reds that he think she will look splendid in. He packages them in a case and the next morning presents them to her.

“Adannar! You don’t need to,” she says even as she fawns over the prettier clothes.

“Do you like them?” He asks in earnest. She looks up and smiles, then cups his face.

“I adore them, thank you.” He leans into her touch just for a moment before straightening his back.

“Wonderful!”

He means to take her to the meadow today, but there is work that needs to be done and they end up spending the day working around the cottage. The chickens need tending to, as does the garden they’ve created in the past weeks. The roof of the cottage also needs a repair, it’s been leaking, and then by the time everything’s completed, the sun is low in the sky and there is no time to take her anywhere special. But they do have enough time to cook and eat dinner together. Well, a dinner for her. Adannar will need to do some night hunting to fill up.

Serahlin lets her hair out, spilling down her shoulders, making her look like the princess he first saw in the Dreaming. But now she is smiling and happy as she eats her stew and makes conversation with him.

“In Eletharan, it is customary to have small meals throughout the day. Consuming large meals at once is seen as bad for health,” she says, even as she breaks a bread roll to sop up some stew.

“But I can’t say I have felt any different with this regimen. Sometimes I think half of the things the nobility did was simply because they could and it set them, us, apart from everyone else. How often you ate became a symbol of wealth. I would eat eight small meals a day, my sister ate ten. I knew of merchants who would stretch their food to last six meals a day.”

Adannar tries to contemplate that. He knows that she came from a world of wealth and excess, but this seemed…much. He knows that her meals were made for her, judging by how she has not exactly been that great in the kitchen. He is not judging her for any of it, of course, she was born into this and she did what she could to survive the environment.

“The company was horrid most of the time,” she says, “All these people just…watching, waiting for me to be imperfect.” Her eyes move down to her food and his brow furrows in concern.

“I find perfection boring, to be honest,” Adannar says, “It is fleeting, and flaws are what make people unique. There is no true beauty in perfection. I am not perfect, you are not perfect, but it does not make you lesser.”

Serahlin blinks and her lips part on a silent “oh.” She tucks her hair behind her ear in a gesture he has come to know as a sign of nervous flattery.

“I…thank you.” She speaks in the way of someone unused to compliments, but perhaps it is not the compliment that is throwing her, but the sincerity. Those at court must be so…blind, he thinks, to lack the ability to see how much Serahlin truly deserves compliments. She is kind and funny and beautiful, even if she is imperfect with her distrustful nature and stubbornness.

They finish dinner and he helps her clean up before it is time for him to leave her to her nightly routine. But before he leaves, she takes his hand.

He turns to her, heart beating, expectant.

Serahlin opens her mouth to say something then shuts it. His heart falls but she takes a step towards him and lifts her free hand to his face. She caresses his cheek and while the silence stretches before them, it feels like she is saying a thousand words, and he is replying in kind.

She pulls back after a moment and straightens her clothes. The normal Serahlin with her stoicism and pleasantries. More and more, however, that Serahlin gives way to a softer version of herself. A version of herself that smiles easily and enjoys his jokes and the simple comforts of the forest.

Adannar leaves that night with his heart in his throat and a great desire to sweep her off her feet.

It takes a few more days of completing chores, but eventually they find the day where the work can wait. On that day, Adannar guides her through a young part of the forest. Small critters scurry from their path. Serahlin holds onto Adannar’s arm as they stride through the brush and it sends little electric flares through him.

They are both dressed in flowing fabrics, her in a pink tunic and him in one of his brighter blue robes.

“It shouldn’t be too much further,” he tells her.

She smiles up at him, “Even if it was, I would not mind. I am enjoying our walk.” He returns the smile and feels his heart do a little pitter patter.

“Have I told you that you look lovely today?” He asks and she nods.

“It was one of the first things you said, but I do not tire of hearing it.” She leans into him, grinning playfully.

“Well, you look lovely still…even with the leaves in your hair,” he points out, to her playful horror.

“Oh no!” She bats at her hair and he calms her, reaching carefully and extracting the few leaves.

“There, no worse for wear.”

He steps over a root, then down a small knoll. Light filters in from where the trees end and the meadow begins. With this time of year, the meadow should be filled with wild flowers – and potentially even some frolicking spirits of the forest. He shifts their positions so that he is holding her hand, leading her through the brush. Excitement fills the air as they reach the boundary of trees.

They emerge from the forest and into the meadow. Serahlin gasps in awe, filling Adannar with a relieved sense of pride. It is a tad hilly for a meadow, but the flowers carpet it all the same, reaching up to the sun in brilliant hues of yellow, cream, pink, and blue. Spirits swirl in brilliant displays of light, shooting up fallen petals into little petal dust devils.

Adannar turns, smiling, to see Serahlin with a near devious expression on her face.

“Serahlin?”

She lets go of his hand and dashes into the meadow, “Catch me!” She calls back, running headlong into the field of flowers. Adannar laughs and does as she commands, letting himself go and feel free as he chases her.

The spirits turn their attentions to them, initial alarm turning to gleeful mischief. They are harmless and Serahlin shows no fear of them as she laughs and darts through the flowers. Adannar lets his inhibitions go as he runs after her.

**

It was a spur of the moment decision to dart off, enticing Adannar to chase her. But she had been so inspired by the beauty of the meadow. All she wanted to do was to run and feel free and happy. And this meadow is so…it is from her dreams it is so beautiful. Maybe she has seen this place in her dreams, her spirit drifting from her sleeping body, drawn to this magical place.

Now she runs through a field of flowers, past bright spirits as a former spirit chases her. His laughter, so pure and joyful, is music to her ears. It sets a rhythm to them running. She turns and laughs with him, cresting over a hill. They revel in the sunlight, and she has not felt so far and free from the court as she does now.

Serahlin spins, her eyes closing at the wonder of it all. Her arms are outstretched, palms up feeling the warmth of the sun. She used to walk the gardens at the palace, enamored with the flowers. But she had always been bedecked in fashion, a smile plastered on her face as a thousand eyes watched her every move. The fashion she loved, the eyes she wanted gone. But here, there are flowers and sun, and the only eyes are Adannar’s. And his eyes are so kind, so beautiful.

He reaches the knoll she is slowly spinning on and rounds on her. His arm slides around her waist and pulls in her close. She travels with his moment, her arms quickly wrapping around his shoulders for stability. They spin together, laughing, until he stumbles and falls back into the lush grass. She lands on top of him, hair flying free from its loose bun.

“Oof!” She says, splayed on top of him, the long grass curving over them. She can feel his chest rising and falling with his labored breaths, and the warmth radiating from his body.

Adannar leans his head back and laughs, only leaning back up to cup her face. His laughter dissipates but his face remains blissful and soft. His hands are rough from work, but she does not mind them as he brushes a thumb over her cheek.

“Serahlin, you are a wonder,” he whispers full sincerity and warmth. Her heart stutters and breath hitches. Through all this time, Adannar has seen her at her worst, broken down, dirty, ugly, and starving. He has seen her struggle with everything she has learned, and not once has he shamed her, or looked at her like she is useless or bad. He has been kind and patient, caring and thoughtful. He hasn’t babied her, but respected her and where she has come from. Not in all her life has she ever met someone like him, and she doubts there is anyone else quite like him either. There is an undeniable goodness to him, a light within him that makes her want to be better.

She shifts up his body and brushes her fingers across his cheek. He sighs and leans into her touch, yellow eyes growing hooded. He is beautiful, she sees. A beauty unlike those at court, natural and striking, full of softness.

Boldness and fondness in equal measure take over her. She leans down and presses her lips to his. He startles for only a second before responding. He leans into her, kissing her back, lips moving under hers. She angles her head and sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, earning her a gasp, borderline moan. It thrills and warms her both to feel his reaction to her.

His hands trail down her body, holding her waist, running up into her hair. It feels so, so good, she leans into him, arching her back. He is the first to pull away, lips pink and breath labored.

“Serahlin, I…do you…” he breathes. She isn’t sure exactly what he is asking, but she feels like she has an answer all the same. She strokes his cheek and her expression remains soft.

“You amaze me,” she murmurs before leaning down to kiss him again.

**

The days following the kisses in the field turn into a new pace. Adannar still arrives at the same time in the morning and leaves the same time at night, but he kisses her hello and goodbye. He is even more free with his affections, holding her waist, and pulling her to him. She enjoys it all, holding him and kissing him back as much as she pleases. There is no worry that they will be caught. He is not a dalliance someone at court is waiting to use to blackmail her. The result is Serahlin being free with her affections in return.

On an evening where the sunset is turning blue and purple from the magic in the sky, she turns to him.

“We have grown so close, and I feel like I am…not being entirely truthful with you,” she explains.

Adannar looks down from the sunset to her, expression curious but sweet, “How so?”

She swallows, “I never told you what I was doing in the cottage that first day you found me.”

“You were running from a political monster of some sort.”

Serahlin nods slowly, “Yes. But that is…a great over simplification.” She wrings her hands and averts her gaze. Adannar reaches over and settles his much larger hand over her nervous ones.

“You do not have to tell me,” he whispers, his tone far more understanding than she has a right to ask for.

Serahlin shakes her head, “No, I do because I left a terrible mess behind. I fear I will have to return to it at some point. I can’t always run, some day we all have to face what chases us.” She takes a deep breath, and begins.

“I was born Serahlin Felise Elethari, to Queen Felena Elethari of the kingdom Eletharan to the west of this forest. I am the eldest, and by rights, that makes me in line to succeed the throne if my mother should die. My younger sister, Elvara is also a princess, and she has been named heir apparent due to my…inability to secure diplomatic relations with the kingdom to the east, Elvhenan.” She goes slow, giving herself time to pause and assess. Adannar remains quiet, listening to her story.

“They wanted to create a tie that will unite the kingdoms in custom and spirit. Which meant an arranged marriage between me, and the High Knight family’s chosen. After visiting their court, the younger son, Dirthamen was chosen for my betrothal. It could have been worse, the eldest son spurned the idea of me, the younger son was by far better. Not a man I could fall in love with, but a man I could at least be happy with. But unfortunately, as the envoy passed through this forest, he went missing.

“With the alliance in jeopardy, a new knight was chosen from his brother’s honor guard somehow. A man greatly indebted to the family, so loyal he could never betray them. His name is Ser Darris, Slayer of Mighty Tor’el, a dragon to the east.” Adannar nodded and swallowed, his face stony and solemn.

Serahlin continued, her voice only wavering slightly, “They arrived at the palace and explained the situation. My mother foolishly allowed the switch, saying that this alliance was still the best option for the kingdom. But my former betrothed and I had been exchanging letters – in Eletharan, it is customary to know your intended for at least a year before marriage. The switch meant that Darris would have to wait a year, and in that year, we would have to spend a lot of time together.” She takes a deep breath and steadies herself.

“It only took a month before things began to become suspect. Darris is an intensely charismatic man, and he charmed my mother and sister instantly. But I was more hesitant. He was not the man I had spent the last three years getting to know. I had resigned myself to a loveless marriage, but a marriage of respect and decency nonetheless. I didn’t know Darris, and I was expected to…marry him in so little time. A year is nothing! I was reluctant, and it showed. But I was also curious – what had happened to my betrothed? His brother was still at the palace, making life difficult. He is possibly the worst person I have ever met in my life, cruel, arrogant, and stupid.”

“He sounds terrible,” Adannar says softly, his expression still inscrutable. Serahlin nods, then bites her lip.

“I never found what happened, because while I was distracted and distant, Elvara was seizing the opportunity. She went to our mother and said she would be a better candidate for marriage with Darris. _She_ should be made heir over me. And mother agreed.” Her voice trembles and she fumbles with her hair, biting back tears.

“When I was told, I was horrified. Relieved I did not have to marry Darris, but my baby sister, she…I protected her from court, I did everything in my power to protect her, that is the only reason she was where she was, and she used that position to stab me in the back. I was distraught, I wanted to be alone. When Falon’din found me, I was in no mood to be played. He grabbed me, demanded I look at him – which I did, as I backhanded him.”

Adannar’s eyes widen, “I know that was a very dangerous thing for you to do, but I would have liked to have seen that.”

She shakes her head, unable to hold back tears any longer, “He said terrible things, hitting me back. And after my inability to play nice with Darris…he convinced my mother I would serve the alliance better as a sacrifice. And my mother… _agreed_.” Her voice breaks and her tears begin to flow freely as she cries. Adannar takes her into his harms.

“No, no, _no_ , I cannot believe…what kind of mother…no,” his horror is palpable and strangely welcome. It is the horror she wanted more to feel around her, what she had expected her own mother to feel when Falon’din had _suggested_ it, even when Elvara had suggested supplanting her.

“I was locked away and-and only loyal guards and spies came to my rescue. My queen-mother was content to let me die, my sister…my memae had long been dead, and I was alone. They stuck me on a horse, and I ran.” Her voice breaks and disappears as she succumbs to her sobs, leaning into Adannar. He holds her tight and runs his hand through her hair in comfort while whispering sweet nothings to her.

She collapses into him, and it feels right to let him lift her completely into his lap. She gives him all her sorrow and heartbreak, her terror and horror that her own family would betray her like that. She gives him her gratitude and her amazement, the burgeoning love for him she is beginning to feel.

He holds her through it all, making her feel more loved here than she ever felt back home, surrounded by people who should have cared. Memae had cared, but Memae had also died. Ironic that when she felt more alone in a palace, constantly surrounded by people, than she does in the forest with only Adannar and his strange mechanical creatures to keep her company.

She stays in his arms for a long time, even after she stops crying. Adannar is warm, and he doesn’t seem to mind simply holding her even after the main tumult of her emotions pass. Eventually, Serahlin sighs and looks up at him. She guides his face to hers and kisses him sweetly, thanking him for listening to her.

He leans his forehead against hers and sighs, his grip tightening just slightly, “You deserve love and trust,” he whispers. There is an emotion in his voice she cannot quite place, but it almost feels like heartbreak.

Adannar stays late that night, holding her in her bed, stroking her hair. It soothes her into a sweet sleep, and when she wakes, he is gone.

Serahlin goes about her normal morning routine – dressing, collecting eggs from the coop, and tidying up a bit. Normally, Adannar arrives while she is tending to the chickens, but he must be running late today. Perhaps he slept in to make up for staying so late at the cottage? Should she have told him he was welcomed to stay? Because he was, and she hates to think he endangered himself by leaving so late at night.

It’s probably nothing, she tells herself, and continues with her day. She has a breakfast of eggs and toast then heads out to tend to her garden. It is midday when she begins to worry. Was it wrong of her to tell him why she is hiding in the forest? Or that she is likely to leave at some point? Is this her doing?

It’s hard to believe that Adannar would abandon her now, after everything he has done. By that logic, she fears something has happened to him.

Concerned, Serahlin heads back inside and dresses in her thickest leather breeches and boots and dons a tunic that feels like it has an old protective enchantment on it. She pulls her hair back and under a hat before heading outside.

Huirin, the mechanical deer that likes to linger around the cottage, is sniffing around the chicken coop, its eyes darting in curiosity to the chickens and then to Serahlin.

“Huirin,” she calls. It lifts its head up, ears forward in attention.

“I need you to take me to Adannar,” she tells it. Strange enough, it bobs its head, similar to a nod and turns to walk into the forest. It looks back at her, waiting to see if she will follow. She saddles and mounts her horse, then follows Huirin into the forest.

Without Adannar by her side, the forest takes on a more sinister feeling. She feels eyes upon her, watching her every movement, like the spirits and animals of the forest know that without one of their one with her, she is fair game. But she rides tall, and follows Huirin, keeping her eye out for Adannar. He could be lying in the dirt, needing assistance. While she has gotten stronger, she is unsure if she would be able to lift him onto Velini, her horse. But she will try and she will help him in any way she can – it’s the least she can do after everything he has done for her.

It is not long until they reach his waterfall. This is the farthest into the forest she has gone, and Adannar’s words from the first night echo in her head.

 _“Do not go past the waterfall to the west_.”

But Huirin is moving past it, and she knows that whatever is to come, she must face it with a brave face and a braver heart. Adannar may need her.

She urges Velini forward and follows Huirin deeper into the Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! All Evanuris interpretations belong to Feynite.


	7. Once There Was a Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selene belongs to SeleneLavellan and this Dirthamen and Falon'din belong to Feynite.

_Six Years Ago_

For the past several centuries, Dirthamen has been researching the patterns involved in the magic of their world. The most common analogy for how magic operates is to picture lakes, streams, oceans, and deserts. It says that magic is like the water and some places have more than others. It is overly simplistic, and it supposes that magic has always been the way it is, and that the current flow is natural. Dirthamen hypothesizes that this is not the case.

Recently he has begun to think that the way magic is more concentrated in some areas is not necessarily due to _flow_ but to magical gravitation, so to speak. Some of his data suggests that certain locations act as siphons for magic, pulling it in and filling the surrounding area with magic. But this pull renders some area bereft of magic.

So far, it is simply a hypothesis with a limited sample of observations. Mt. Garvunesh, a volcano two day’s ride south of Dirthirasan, is one of these observed places. It appears to be a natural siphon of magic, though a small one. The soil surrounding the volcano is rich for farming, but it also contains magical properties that many of the alchemists in his territory like to use.

The researching tower northeast of the city is another such siphon, though artificial. It houses some the best of the empire’s magical researchers as well as some of the greatest scientific minds. Through the study of gravity, they have come to this hypothesis. What this means is that there is a way, theoretically, to follow the magical gravitational pulls to where other siphons exist. And from there…they could dismantle them or use the, depending.

They have successfully triangulated the locations of three smaller siphons to the east, but there is a draw to the west that has been drawing Dirthamen’s attention. After a year of research, they believe they finally have the location for the draw – deep into the western forest, by the mountains. From the calculations, his cartographers predict that the siphon is located north of the safe path through the forest.

Curious, Dirthamen joins the expedition. There are cartographers, scouts, guards, and magical experts attending. All of whom are familiar with Dirthamen himself – it makes the journey that much less draining. It also allows him to feel his excitement more freely. There are several projects he would like to investigate if only he had the access to the amount of magic required, and if the predictions are correct, the results could be amazing.

First, they must find the siphon.

It takes several days to get deep enough into the forest. The magical experts and cartographers work together to chart their path while Dirthamen assists on some of the more esoteric calculations. On the fourth day, they decide to make camp early to prepare for approaching the siphon the next day.

Dirthamen can feel the magic in the air, a prickle to his skin that is strangely calming. It is familiar and it makes his body feel…strange. Malleable, as if he could change the very skin he is in.

He cannot sleep, the energy around him, in him, is too great. He lies in his tent, staring at the canvas when he feels _it_. Warm magic suffuses the air, drawing him out of his tent to find the entire camp surrounded by an ambient purple hued magic. The guards are asleep, purple air surrounding them, held in what appears to be a magical vice.

Fear spikes in him and he quickly rounds on all of his people, to find them all magically imprisoned. He casts a few spells, trying to test the barriers. They hold, undisturbed by any of his attempts to break them.

This…should have been predicted. Others would be drawn to the siphon, just as they were. He swallows and tries not to panic.

He…can leave, find help. Yes, get help, reinforcements to solve whatever prison his people are in.

Dirthamen goes to mount his horse to find that it too is imprisoned in the purple haze. He moves swiftly the way they came to run face first into a barrier. He snaps back, knocked to the ground as a flash of burning pain radiates from his fingers up his arms to his shoulders.

He is trapped.

Dirthamen has never considered himself to be claustrophobic, but the idea of being trapped here indefinitely is nothing short of terrifying. He staggers to his feet and tries opening a passage through the barrier. He pours as much magic he can into the spells to no avail. It is likely that whoever is doing this is using the power in the siphon. If he could just get to it, maybe he could counteract this spell.

The barrier ripples and a path appears, lined with purple, a straight line heading north – towards the siphon.

He is not naïve, this is a trap, he knows it. But…failing all other options, it is his only option. He steps cautiously down the path, following it into the dark, careful to not touch the barriers. Under different circumstances, he would like to study them, but the appeal is lost when it is being used to trap him.

He follows the path for over two hours before he sees it – a great tower rising from the forest floor. The moon hangs high in the sky, illuminating the tower. Light bounces off the walls, refracting in a way that makes it almost imperceptible, but it is there, shrouded in magic and clearly the siphon that had drawn them to the forest.

More of the purple magic wraps around the tower, thicker and brighter. Tentatively, Dirthamen reaches out with his own magic, wrapping it around the magic imbued in the tower. To his surprise, the magic within the tower is different from the purple magic trapping and guiding him.

Shadows move and flicker and he turns around, trying to find the source of the movement. He is turned around, scanning the dark when the air shifts and he feels it. Or rather, her.

The woman is tall and dark except for the brilliant white of her hair. The purple magic responds to her, curling towards her as if it wants to touch her.

Under other circumstances, he would find her very beautiful.

Dirthamen swallows and cloaks himself in his own magic, shielding himself from whatever she may assault him with.

But she does not lunge towards him, and the magic keeps its distance.

“Why have you come here?” She asks, voice echoing.

“I-I,” he stutters. He takes a deep breath and tries again.

“I am investigating the magical gravitational pulls in this world and this tower appears to be a siphon that is pulling in a significant amount of magic.”

There is a long pause.

“You are Elvhen,” she states.

“Yes.”

“Your kind are not welcome in this forest.” She is referring to the beast slaying. The forests, this one as well as the smaller forests to the east, north, and south, are all popular hunting grounds for his sister and brother. They like to bring back trophies, heads of nymphs, wyverns, witches, and abominations are all common decorative items.

“I am not hunting,” he says. She stalks forward then stops shy of him being able to see her face.

“You are speaking the truth,” he thinks she sounds surprised by that.

“Are you not elven?” He asks.

“Do I seem elven to you?” Is her only reply. No, she does not. He has never seen magic cling to an elven person like it clings to her. He wonders if she is even using the siphon’s abilities.

“You seem powerful.”

“You’re an observant one,” she takes a step forward and straightens her back, “you are to leave the forest and never come back.”

He blinks, “And what happens if I do not leave, or I do come back?”

“I will be forced to kill you,” she says without hesitation.

“It is not that simple. The cartographers and researchers will not understand why we cannot continue.”

“Are you not their leader? I have watched you for the last few days, you gave the orders. Tell them that you must leave and cannot come back. Find another…siphon to study.”

The amount of adjustments to account for this siphon’s activity to find another siphon would be…significant. Not to mention difficult.

“We do not wish to disturb you or the siphon, only to study it.”

“Is that what you told the dragons?” She snaps and he grows quiet. It is not what was told to the dragons, but he can see the similarity.

“I was not responsible for that decision.” It is the truth, he had no part in deciding that the empire should go to war with the dragons. He was away, absorbed by his research while his brother, father, and sister pushed Mother into starting the war.

Four dragons who had been previously friendly with the empire had ben brought to Arlathan under the guise of a diplomatic mission. Only one made it out alive.

“Have you questioned the decision? Have you railed against your people for senselessly attacking u- _them_.” He catches the near slip and a wariness fills him. She…fits within the draconic category. Extraordinary magical abilities, guarding and possessive of a location, beautiful. Just because she wears the skin of an elf does not mean it is her true form.

It would certainly explain some things about her. Why she is impassioned so about his involvement with the Dragon War and the magic that clings to and exudes from her. He does not have so much as a blade on him. He was never the fighter in his family, he researched magical properties and hidden knowledge. Falon’din fought, as did Andruil and Father, but…not Dirthamen.

Not to underestimate her before the realization, but he feels the entire encounter become that much more dangerous and tenuous. This is her territory, and dragons are exceptionally territorial, particularly towards those they suspect have come to do them or any in their domain, harm.

The moonlight catches the line of her cheekbone, high and sharp, and the light glints in her eye. A slit pupil stares him down and she smiles. It reminds him of the smiles Andruil will wear when she is hunting.

“I suppose the ruse is ruined now,” she says, exhaling a plume of smoke.

 _Dragons like the show, they are bluffing creatures and will try to intimidate you out of a fight. They are liars_. The words come to him from a foggy memory of his Father speaking to recruits, all of whom were likely to die.

He never saw the bluff as a lie – it was a genuine desire to avoid conflict. There are other lizards that are like that, they puff up their necks and make themselves look bigger. Cats do it as well, they puff up to scare away a threat. The difference is that dragons are far deadlier.

The woman grows taller with each step and great horns curl up from her head now. Silvery white scales cover her limbs as she looms over him, easily twice his height now.

“Leave, and do not come back. Do not speak of me or the tower.”

He nods his acquiescence. There is little point not to.

She grins, revealing sharp teeth and flicks a finger. The path back to the camp alights once more, she gestures for him to follow it. He steps back, unsure if it is wise to turn his back on her. But it makes her roll her eyes.

“You may run, I am not going to kill you now that you have agreed to my terms. I am not without honor, _Elvhen_ ,” she spits the last word as if it is a curse. He supposes it can be, considering how many of her kind the empire has slain.

Dirthamen turns and walks quickly back to camp. It takes a great effort to not run, but her words stick with him. She is not without honor, and just as she promised, he makes it to camp uninjured. The purple mist lifts and it is like a play resumes around him. His people look to him, surprised to find him at the edge of camp and not in his tent.

“My lord?” Asks one of the cartographers.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, “We must leave. I cannot explain, but we must leave, and not come back.” Questions are hurled at him but he shakes his head and fields all of them. He cannot say, at least…not here.

The next day, the expedition heads back to Dirthirasan. Most are confused, some are frustrated, and he is woefully still curious. The way the magic emanated from the dragon woman was unique, and perhaps…perhaps the tower is not the siphon.

They return to Dirthirasan and he readjusts the parameters for the research. They turn the focus from inanimate siphons to animate ones. There are a few creatures that are easy to examine and see if they are pulling magic to them. It is a much smaller scale, and he must call on Ghilan’nain to assist him.

Even as they research the implications of creatures being small siphons, his mind wanders to that night often. He has no name, no knowledge of her. And yet, almost every night he sees her in his dreams. Dreams that do not make any sense, he sees her, or even feels her. They are like soft echoes, suggestions, and it fills him with a bone deep longing. It wrenches his heart and distracts him from his work.

He searches the archives on known dragons and finds none that fit her description – there is one that comes close, but dragon described is male and Dirthamen suspects he would not have left that night alive if the dragon described in the archive was there that night.

He wonders if she has charmed him. She haunts his dreams, a common visage of white hair and bright eyes – a sinister smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

 _Dragons can make you grow mad as obsession consumes you._ More words from Father’s speech. Is this what he spoke of?

A year passes and Dirthamen feels drawn more and more to the forest to the west. After another dream about that night, he cannot take it anymore. He equips himself for an expedition and leaves without so much fuss. He does not tell anyone where he is going, only that there is something he must go find. It is for a personal project, he says.

The forest is as he remembers, verdant and beautiful, full of treacherous creatures that can easily kill him. But when he reaches the old campsite, he forgoes bringing his blade. He does not want her to believe he has come to kill her, only to have this compulsion removed.

He leaves his horse and all his belongings in the warded camp and sets forth to the tower. The trail to the tower appears different in the daylight – full of colors other than purple.

It does not take long until he sees the tower in the distance, reflecting light and keeping its own figure obscure. He realizes that this must be the Glass Tower from the old logs on ancient magical structures. It was a hub of activity a few hundred years before the Dragon War, but something happened, magical experiments gone awry is likely, and it was abandoned. Its location has been lost for nearly a thousand years. It would make sense, then, that if it was still the siphon. The animal research has come back positive for minor gravitational pulls, however, which may imply that the Tower is a siphon _and_ the dragon woman is also a siphon. That would greatly help explain the amount of draw this region seems to pull.

The ground vibrates with force and wind suddenly gusts from the tower towards him. A glittering, long object flies overhead before landing in his vicinity. The sun grows dark as shadows suddenly shroud him and what he suspects is _her_ in her true form.

“I told you to stay away!” She growls, voice angry. When his father or brother sounds like this though, there is a different edge to it – it makes him brace for the impending strikes, but this does not instill that same fear.

“I have not come to harm you,” he says instead, “I have come to request you remove whatever spell you have placed on me.” There is movement and he gains the sense of being surrounded without actually seeing anything.

“You _lie!_ ” She growls, low and menacing, “I have placed no spell on you.”

Dirthamen blinks. She…has not placed any spell on him? His brow furrows as he scrambles to find another explanation. Other than bewitching him, it could be natural fascination. He has not seen a live dragon up close. And she had been beautiful in that light, so different from the descriptions his family has always regaled him with.

“I do not understand,” he says softly.

“Have you told anyone what you saw that night?” She demands.

Dirthamen shakes his head, “No. I have kept it to myself.” He should have been more thorough in his investigation into the dreams. Perhaps there would have been another explanation, but he had to ensure he was not discovered, it…limited his scope.

She moves again and this time he thinks he sees the flash of a green reptilian eye in the shadows. She is much closer than he originally thought, making him step back. His foot hits something very solid and he falls to the ground.

The object he tripped over moves and suddenly a reptilian face is peering down at his, rows of sharp teeth visible in a sneer. Claws land on his chest and hold him to the ground while she bends over him.

“You have left me no choice,” she says, “I cannot risk letting you go, but you have honored part of my wishes. It feels wrong to kill you.” The claws secure around his chest and lift him up as she rises. Reflexively, he holds onto the limb, feeling her smooth scales, focusing on that rather than the wrenching feeling as she launches herself into the air.

His eyes shut, the ground disappears, and everything moves at a rapid pace. Stomach churning and lurching as she stops, landing hard against something, then moving again.

The claws release him, and he stumbles to what feels like a stone floor. He tries, then fails, to keep from retching. He staggers and falls back, shutting his eyes once more to make the world just stop spinning so horrifically.

“I…oh, um,” she says. It is his only warning before magic fills the air and settles over him. He tenses but the magic is soft and when it falls on him, it feels almost like snow. It sinks into his skin and his stomach stops lurching, the spinning in his head halts, and the nausea with it all dissipates quickly. His breathing remains labored as he recovers, feeling himself not feel like he is going to turn his insides into outsides.

“It’s been so long. I forgot how first-time flyers react,” she says, friendlier than she has been previously. Dirthamen does not respond, still feeling his body resume its equilibrium. The moments drag on until he finds the ability to roll his body from his prone position to sitting upright. He sucks in a deep breath and hesitantly opens his eyes to find wonder.

There were no accounts of the interior of the Glass Tower, no one could find it, let alone explore it. And yet, here he is, sitting on the floor in what appears to be one of the upper rooms, the window flung open to reveal sky – not even the tops of the trees are visible. The wind whips by, howling, but it does not shake the structure or enter the window. Inside, the room is large, big enough to house the very large dragon that is sitting by the window.

Her body is long and slender, covered in shimmering white scales. Ivory horns curl above her head and soft white feathers cover her wings. Her green gaze watches him closely as he orients himself. The floor is stone, but it is polished, covered in runes. The walls are of similar make, with only some wooden accents and furniture. The window dominates the far wall where she sits, plenty big enough to allow her access.

It is a tower interior, remarkable in its size and the runes, but…little else.

“What are your intentions?” He asks softly. Her head tilts in an oddly endearing way.

“You are my prisoner. If you cannot stay away, then you may not leave.”

“I cannot leave my people,” he says immediately, followed then by, “my family will track me here.”

Her eyes narrow and she leans in closer, “What is your name?”

“Dirthamen Evanuris,” he answers, and she hisses loudly. She says a few words in a language he does not know, her body twisting and twining as if in pain. Her head shakes, writhing before she suddenly snaps down to him, her head, and teeth, very close to his body.

“You are one of _them!_ I should…I should kill you!”

“I…” he wants to defend himself, tell her that he has not killed a dragon, that he has kept her secret. Even if his family did track him here, they would have to track him – not her.

But she does not move – not to retract, but also not to kill.

“I…I hate your kind!” She says, “I hate this!” Her nostrils flare and he can feel the heat of her breath, so close. His heart races. She could very well kill him, easily. Just…chomp.

But his family would come for her then.

“You came here to be rid of a spell, instead I shall impart you with one. You are cursed to never be able to speak of this tower or me or anything about me to anyone – alive or dead or otherwise unspecified. And every full moon, you will return to me to have this curse renewed – if you do not, you will _die_.” Purple magic rises form her and sinks into him like icicles. A gasp of pain wrenches from him as his knees give out from the weight of the magic.

“This is unnecessary!”

“I have seen too many die by your family’s hand, I will not risk more,” she says, resolved. Her claws secure around him once more and he is wrenched back out with her as she takes to the skies. His body is wrenched back with her and his head is sent spinning once again. When they land, he slumps to the forest floor and tries not to retch again. He fails.

“I will see you in a month, Dirthamen Evanuris, do not be late.” He hears, rather than sees her fly away, leaving him alone in the dirt, cursed and sick and terror stricken for his future.

**

For the entirety of the first month, Dirthamen feels a dread in the pit of his stomach. He secludes himself often, unable to be around people for too long. Everything seems to be on edge and he fears having to go back into the forest.

But the full moon arrives, and he makes the journey. He arrives at sunset and she is waiting for him in the old campsite. She is in her elven form, sans scales and horns. By all respects she _looks_ like an elf. It an unnerving deception, even if it is a beautiful one.

He dismounts and walks slowly to her. Her hands are folded in front of her and she is very still as she watches him.

“I was worried you would not come,” she says.

“I do not wish to die,” he answers. Her frown deepens, and she raises a hand.

“Let’s get this over with. Kneel.” He does as she says, kneeling into the soft earth as she strides to him. She extends an arm out, holding her hand above him, nails long like her claws. Her magic swirls out of her and digs into him. His body tenses and he grits his teeth at the pain. He is not unaccustomed to pain, though it has been awhile since he has had _this_ much in his body. But just as quickly it is there, it is gone and a wave of soothing magic settles over him instead.

“I do not like causing pain,” she says, and there is a brokenness in her voice that leads him to believe her. But she is doing it and will continue to do it as he returns to her every full moon. He swallows, remaining on the forest floor as she moves away, disappearing into the night.

He is proven wrong the next time he must go to her. Her magic sinks into him, but it is like standing under warm water. It makes his skin tingle and flush, but it does not hurt. He looks up at her in surprise.

“I do not like causing pain,” she says again, and he cannot help but smile.

“You modified the spell.” She nods. She did not have to alter the spell, it was achieving its goal, and his pain is not her problem. He is reminded of what she said in the tower, how she should kill him, how she hated his kind. But not him.

“You do not like violence,” he says and she nods again, slowly, looking away from him.

“This war has forced many of us to do things we do not want to do just to survive…” she turns back to him, her stony façade returning, “You may go now.”

The next time he goes with the full moon, he brings a book. The Glass Tower is said to house one of the most impressive libraries on the continent, but he doubts it has been updated since it was lost. There have been many books made since then. He is not entirely sure why he feels like he should bring the book, but he does.

After she casts her spell, he asks her to stay a moment. He thinks she is going to refuse his request, but she is still there when he turns from retrieving the book from his pack.

“Is that…” she does not finish her sentence, and he wonders if she has received many gifts. Likely not recently, dragons were said to be semi-social and visited with each other, but his family has been…thorough.

“It is a story about a librarian who becomes a knight,” he says, hand running over the smooth leather of the binding, “it is very good.”

“Does this knight slay a dragon?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“No. They become a knight on a quest to break a curse placed on their lover,” he clarifies.

“Oh…that…hm.” He is learning that when she does this, she is conflicted but because she is holding herself back from something. He understands that – who she is and what she ought to do conflicting.

“Why did you bring it?” She asks.

“I thought you might like it.” He answers as honestly, he can without saying he does not know.

“Why…would you do that?”

He does not have a sufficient answer for that. Instead, Dirthamen holds it out to her, “Please take it.”

She reaches forward and takes it from him, careful to not touch him. He pulls his hands back, feeling…disappointed? He shoves the feeling to the side and focuses on watching her take the book. She opens it and scans a page before closing it, a small smile dancing upon her lips.

“Thank you,” she says.

The next full moon, he brings another book. They stay even longer in the camp, speaking about the previous book. She read it over it over the month and talks excitedly with him. She eagerly takes the next book he offers, and the full moon after that, they speak on it too.

They continue on like this for six full moons. On the sixth one, they are sitting in the camp. She is holding the new book in her lap and she takes a deep breath.

“My name is Selene,” she tells him.

“Selene,” he repeats softly. It is a beautiful name and it fits her, with the moon in her hair and the light in her eyes. _Selene_.

Dirthamen rides the high of knowing Selene’s name all the way back to Dirthirasan. He rides his horse into the stable and grabs his things, heading back into his castle for a change of clothes. He opens his door and high comes crashing to the ground.

“Hello, Brother,” Falon’din greets, leaning back in a favorite chair of Dirthamen’s.

“Hello, Falon’din,” Dirthamen responds, remembering that he can still move, it is his room, his castle, his city, after all. So, he moves, setting his bag down by his dresser.

“Your people said you were not here. I didn’t believe them, but shit you weren’t. Where were you?”

Dirthamen keeps his back to Falon’din, it is always easiest to lie to his brother when he isn’t looking at him. “I was in the field, doing research.” He moves away from the dresser and towards his bed, hidden behind a screen, separating it from the sitting area.

There is a bound person on the floor next to his bed. Sickness rolls through Dirthamen that he struggles to hide. They are pretty, long blonde hair, indigo eyes, small. There is blood on his bed and on them.

“I had to entertain myself while you were gone, your people have gone _soft_ ,” Falon’din says derisively. They begin to cry silently.

“How long have you been here?” He asks his brother.

“Two days, everyone said you would be back _yesterday_.”

“There was a storm,” which is true – there was a storm, and it did delay him. Dirthamen bends down next to small, shivering follower of his and carefully undoes their binds. He makes sure to not touch them. He takes his own cloak off and offers it to them. They quickly wrap it around their body and when he bids them to stand, they collapse.

“I will have to pick you up,” he whispers. He waits for them to nod before he gently pulls them into his arms.

“They require healing. I will return shortly,” he tells his brother.

“Whatever, they weren’t that great anyways,” Falon’din waves in an out-of-character dismissal. But it is good, Dirthamen thinks, hopefully they will be able to recover in peace.

He leaves the bedroom and they sag against him, soft cries muffled as they press their face to his shoulder. He will request to have their quarters improved, whatever quarters they have, and to have as much access to the healers as they require. It will not…it will not make up for what has been done to them, but he can offer what little comforts he can.

Dirthamen leaves his cloak with them at the healers after they appear reluctant to let it go. It is no issue, he has others and can always have another one made.

Falon’din stays the rest of the month. His next bed partner is not as lucky as his first, and instead of going to the healers, a service is planned. Any request for Falon’din to stop his activities is met with similarly violent rejections.

If only Dirthamen could pinpoint what Falon’din had come for, then his brother would leave and cease harassing the fair-haired and bright-eyed folk of Dirthirasan.

Dirthamen is so preoccupied with is brother’s visit that he does not keep track of the moon’s phases. By the time he feels the presence of the full moon, it is too late. Full moons last four days, and it takes that time to reach the campsite, and by that time he will be….

He tries to leave anyways, maybe if he has the horse run through the night he can make it. But his brother finds him and there is…an altercation.

“You will not leave me!” Falon’din shouts, striking Dirthamen in the face. The stomach.

Dirthamen is going to die.

On the final night of the full moon, Dirthamen resides in his room. It is quiet, Falon’din has preoccupied himself with another of Dirthamen’s people now that he has been incapacitated. He wonders what will become of his people when he is gone. Will his brother take them? Will Mother intervene?

He also thinks of Selene. Will she think he has betrayed her? The thought has never crossed his mind – but he will die because in a way he did. He did not go to her when she had established he needed to.

His stomach lurches. Death will come from the gut, he guesses. Pain coils low in his belly and he stares up at the ceiling. Gut wounds are supposedly the most painful. They are slow deaths, full of agony. The curse was meant to punish, and he deserves the punishment for not doing as he was instructed.

Sudden movement at the window captures his attention. A white raven sits on the sill, ruffling its feathers. An exceptionally rare bird, one he had always wanted to see – fitting that now is when he would see it.

The bird flies into the room and he reflexively sits up, shocked as it lands beside him, staring with…intent up at him?

“Will anyone come in here?” It asks. Wait, no. That is _Selene’s_ voice.

“N-no,” he answers. Light emanates from the raven, engulfing it and in a bright flash, it is gone, replaced with a Selene that is leaning over him.

“You’re hurt,” she says, reaching for his face. Her touch is soft and her magic swirls with it as she brushes a thumb over the cut on his cheek. The sting and hurt are smoothed away, making him sigh.

“I apologize for not coming,” he says softly. To his surprise, her expression does not turn mean, her touch remains gentle.

“I was worried,” is all she says. No harsh words, just softness. He leans into her touch, eyes fluttering closed as he feels the familiar warm magic settle into him. Her other hand cups his other cheek, framing his face in a deeply reassuring gesture.

He brings his hands up to hold her arms. He sends in just a touch of his own magic to join hers, earning him a soft sigh. Selene leans down and rests her forehead against his, murmuring his name, sending a shiver down his spine.

He does not know when he began to feel this way for her, but it feels right and good. Better than the relief of not dying is her, warm and comforting. He whispers her name back in the small space between them. He leans up, shrinking the space and presses his lips to hers. A small noise of surprise escapes her, and he fears she will pull away. But then she sinks into him, kissing him back.

As quickly as she kisses him, she pulls back, eyes wide. She retracts her hands and steps away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


	8. The Princess Ventured into the Dark Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For maximum effect, listen to Evermore from the recent Beauty and the Beast movie.

Past the waterfall, the forest changes. Sunlight becomes sparse as the canopy of leaves overhead thicken. The trees here are old growth and Serahlin can feel the eyes of a dozen tiny spirits watching her as she follows Huirin.

She must remain strong. Adannar is hidden away here, somewhere, and he could need her. This is a terrible place to go missing, deep in the dark part of the forest with no one but peeping spirits to watch the tragedy. She cannot just leave him be, not while she can ride after him and help him. It is the least she can do after he has done so much for her.

“How much farther, Huirin?” She asks. The mechanical deer turns its head to her. Its usual whirring noise pauses to click twice, two metal eyelids roll over reflective eye sockets. It is some sort of communication, but not one she can discern. It turns its attention back to whatever trail it’s following to Adannar, the whirring kicking up once again.

Velini snorts but follows the strange deer. It is not long until they start to noticeably ascend what must be a small mountain. The path is surprisingly sure, however, and Velini does not struggle with his footing. The trees curve over the path, only a few having roots that disrupt the packed earth and…stones? Who would lay a stone path this deep in the woods?

They come to a fork in the path, one leading up, another down. Sunlight spills down, illuminating the path that leads up, while casting the path leading down in dark shadow. Huirin, of course, heads down. Serahlin swallows and steels herself before urging Velini to continue to follow Huirin.

Thick shadows envelope them as they descend, and the forest visibly changes. She is reminded of the great tree Adannar showed her, the one housing a spirit of Content. These trees feel…they feel like that. Magical. Aware. _Watching_.

The leaves begin to take on iridescent and glowing hues, mushrooms even appear to be larger and brighter. And an air of tingling magic surrounds them all. The little hairs on Serahlin’s arms and the back of her neck rise at the magic. Her concern morphs into a near panic. Adannar likes to harvest alchemical ingredients – they’re for his creatures and for potions he likes to dabble in. He laughed once, saying he was no alchemist, but he can concoct some poultices and potions that are helpful. He gave her one, once, to help sore muscles. She cannot be certain, but she suspects these mushrooms and other plants are likely subjects for alchemical harvesting. He could have fallen, hit his head! Or twisted his ankle, broken his leg, his arm…the list goes on.

She keeps fighting the urge to ask Huirin if it knows anything. It could, it very well could, but that doesn’t mean she will understand what it says. Or blinks, or whirrs. She should have asked Adannar to teach her how to communicate with his creatures, that way in case something like this happened she would be able to find him more quickly. It’s no matter now, but when she finds him, she is going to sit him down and have him teach her. After he gets better, of course. If she doesn’t kill him herself, after scaring her like this.

Huirin keeps the same walking pace, and it feels terribly slow. They started the search _hours_ ago! And still no sign of Adannar. Where is he? Heavens, she hopes he isn’t dead, that…that would be the worst.In the short amount of time they have spent together, she has come to care for him, more than she ever thought possible. Before, she had resigned herself to a loveless marriage – to a good man, but still loveless. She never dreamed that when she ran she would ever find someone like Adannar. She did not know that such kindness could lurk in such unexpected places.

Now she must return the favor. It’s the right thing to do and besides she…cares for him. Deeply. So much so that the thought of fulfilling her duty to marry Dirthamen or someone else fills her with a sour taste in her mouth and dread in her heart.

She cannot in good conscious marry someone while she feels this way for Adannar. It isn’t right. Even if it is simply political, a marriage is a marriage. She would still be connected to Dirthamen and longing for someone else.

At least hiding out in the woods means she doesn’t have to marry anyone she does not desire.

Feeling like for Adannar is _exactly_ why she needs to find him. And why if he turns up dead or hurt, she’ll kill him for scaring her so. She’ll kiss him, then kill him. Or maybe she’ll just kiss him. Really, she just needs to find him.

They descend ever further into the darkened forest, now illuminated by glowing mushrooms and other plants she doesn’t know. Adannar had been teaching her some of the more mundane plants, focusing on the herbs and foliage that could help her. None of the plants here could be defined as mundane. Some of them even come across as hostile. Before, she would never have believed a plant could be hostile, but nothing makes as much sense as it did. Or perhaps she just sees more.

Huirin makes a clicking noise and Velini stops, dragging Serahlin out of her thoughts. The air is colder and the glow from the mushrooms darken. Some of the mushrooms even shrink back as a shadow slinks through the trees.

Velini shakes and steps back. She tries to comfort him but he is inconsolable as the shadow draws nearer. Huirin’s clicking noise grows louder before it leaps at the shadow, a light emanating from its head. The shadow shrinks back in haste, and the mushrooms grow back, lighting the pathway once more.

“What was that?” She asks, breathless and more than a little disturbed. Huirin turns to her, plates on its head reforming to the face she is familiar with. It makes a low whining noise then shakes. Right. It’s…whatever that was.

Serahlin reaches down and pats Velini’s neck, reassuring the horse even while she needs reassuring herself. That shadow is only one beast that occupies this forest, she reminds herself. Just because she has been fortunate in the forest does not mean that her experience is representative of the nature of the forest. A dragon lurks here, as do many other creatures that would see her harmed. Or worse.

Huirin chirps at them and Serahlin encourages her horse to follow it. Remember Adannar, remember that he could need her and Velini.

The path winds down but it remains a path. To where, she can only guess a terrible pit filled with bodies. Maybe this path was made by beasts that would haul their kills off to a deep part of the forest and perform dark rituals furthering their beastliness.

She has got to find Adannar if only to stop these ridiculous thoughts from polluting her mind.

Huirin turns around a bend and Serahlin follows – to see the mouth of a large cave. Long dark moss dangles, nearly obscuring the soft light emanating from the cave. Light, from a cave. It is a magical forest, she reminds herself. Huirin ducks into the cave, the moss trailing over its smooth metal body. Its pace remains that same, undeterred by the cave and moss. It is likely safe, then, or as safe as it can be.

Deep breaths, she can do this. Be brave, be brave.

She urges Velini forward and braces herself for the moss. It is soft, but in her face and not unlike unwanted touches in a ballroom. Thankfully, it is over in a heartbeat and she is free to ride tall and unhindered after Huirin.

As she crosses the threshold, a wave of magic comes over her and she gasps at the rush of it. Magic back home always felt cool and powerful, and tame compared to the wild swirling gusts of it in the forest. Here, magic is like its own entity, moving and shifting. And _powerful_.

It makes sense that the magic in the forest, and so deep into it, would have a lot of magic. Spirits form out of massive emotion and magic, if one is not present, then the spirit cannot form. Its why spirits are not common back home, and why they almost take on bodies as soon as they can. Without a well of magic present, maintaining their spirit forms is not only difficult, it’s risky. Spirits who do not wish to take on bodies back home risk shrinking into nothing or shattering from the strain to stay alive.

She knew that it wasn’t like that everywhere, but it was shocking to see so many spirits in the wood. Adannar had explained that _he_ was the rarity. Most spirits in the wood opt to refrain from a corporeal form.

If that is so, she wonders why Adannar took on a body.

Her thoughts settle as the magic flurries away from her, allowing her to gaze in stunned awe at the cave around her. No, not a cave, a…she has no proper word for this! The walls are shined stone, swirling with blues, greens, greys, and browns. Just past the mouth of the cave, the walls turn from rounded to actual walls. The ceiling is high, and not just palace high but so high that she cannot quite make out _where_ the ceiling is. Only that it is there.

Huirin is undeterred, but perhaps it cannot experience the incredible magnitude of this place. The magic, the obvious care that has been taken to create a palatial home…cave. Enchanted sconces light up as they walk by, blue tinted light illuminating the smooth walls.

Velini’s hoofbeats echo in the hallway, filling the otherwise silent room with a steady beat.

What is this place? Who made this?

Is this some entrance to the dwarven empire? She thought those were heavily guarded and sealed off while the surface nations battled the dragons. Perhaps they forgot about this entrance? Or maybe the age of the place marks it as different? Maybe it was abandoned ages ago due to the magical fluctuations in the forest.

Huirin stops at the end of the hallway and turns to her, its eyes mimic blinking and it makes a whistling noise at her.

“I am still following,” she asserts. It would make some sense if this was an entrance to the dwarven empire. They have crafting abilities that would fascinate Adannar considering his hobby of creating these automatons.

Huirin turns to the right, down a set of stairs, activating more lights with its descent. Serahlin dismounts and hitches Velini to a sconce holding a stone. She follows Huirin on foot, down the stairs, feeling dread creep into her. She is not that strong, if she needs to pick him up…how will she?

The stairs end and another hallway stretches before the, but now piled with _stuff_. There are boxes upon boxes upon dresses and cabinets and satchels…just so much _stuff_.

“What is all of this?!” She says, mostly to herself but Huirin takes it upon itself to make a few chirps then a low honking noise, not unlike a goose.

“Don’t take that tone with me, this is a lot of stuff…and why is fine tableware next to not so fine linens? And is that a… _lamp_? That’s from Veharan, across the gulf, isn’t it? Oh, and those are silks from Pah’naar! What in the world was Adannar _doing_ down here?” She’s beginning to suspect he found this place and has gotten enveloped in snooping through all of this stuff! Where did it come from? Who collected all this?

Some of these things are seriously beautiful, and they are just…wasting away in this cave. As nice as cave it is, it is still sequestered away from _everything_.

Huirin chirps at her, making her realize she has stopped moving. Serahlin snaps out of her awe for everything around her and steps quickly after the mechanical deer.

The hallway curves and there are gaps in the piles of stuff. In those gaps are gigantic doors – one set of doors is open and inside is just another pile of things. Light reflects off the shinier and more valuable items, while others remain in crates and satchels. She pauses when her eye catches the light glinting off what must be a cascade of golden coins. Or a mountain of them.

All this wealth, all these things, stored away. What is this place?

Serahlin resumes following Huirin, coming to another large door that is cracked open. Huirin nods its head toward the door, then moves behind Serahlin and all but shoves her through the door.

“Excuse me!” She says, but follows his instructions and goes inside. Huirin does not follow and a heavy dread worms its way through Serahlin’s body. Whatever is in here is deterring even Huirin. Should she even be in here? The lights are dimmer and the stones in the sconces are not lighting as she walks carefully through the room.

The piles in here are much more specific, either pillows or blankets or other soft creations, making the space almost like a large bed.

A _gigantic_ bed. For something as equally massive.

No, no, no. She has to get out of here, if Adannar truly wandered down here…he is not getting back out. A broken sob leaves her, the sound filling the space. She clamps a hand over her mouth in horror just as something massive moves in the shadows. A low rumbling echoes from the shadows making her eyes widen in terror.

Adannar deserves to be buried, deserves better than to die at the jaws of a cruel beast. And there is _nothing_ she can do. She is unarmed, unarmored, and it has been more than a century since she has lifted a sword. And if she is not quick, she will only join her darling Adannar in his demise.

 _Oh Adannar_ , Serahlin mourns for a second before turning on her heel and running. She runs from the room and back down the hallway, past all the piles of stuff. Behind her, she hears the beast moving after her. Its breathing is loud, filling the hallway with a rumbling timbre that spurs her to go faster.

“ _Serahlin?”_ Her voice echoes through the space and horror fills her. It knows her _name_? How?! Heavens above, let her escape this treacherous place!

She runs up the stairs, her legs burning with protest. But she ignores it, she has to. The rumbling grows closer but she rounds the top of the stairs and rapidly unhitches Velini. She mounts her horse and spurs him into a run.

Velini charges down the hallway and out of the cave, and they are heading up the path when the earth shakes and she feels the wind at her back. It is a pushing motion followed by a pull – like when a bird takes off.

She tries to urge Velini to go faster, but they are on an incline and the horse can only go so fast. Goodness knows that he was never trained to outrun a _dragon_.

They reach the top of the hill when the air snaps with a sudden chill. The shadows from before surge forward, lead by a screeching white spirit with outstretched gnarled hands. Serahlin screams as the hands tear her clothes and sink into her body, causing pain to lance deep. Her vision blanks out and she only realizes Velini is throwing her too late.

He bucks wildly, throwing Serahlin, vision blurry and screaming down the hill. Her body slams into the earth and rolls. She tries to shield herself from the blows by the demon and the tumbling in equal measure.

The pain! She cannot see and as she falls, her heart races faster and faster and the demon grows stronger – sinking deeper into her.

She flails her arms back in a desperate attempt to grab hold of…something! Her hand comes up with a root that she snatches quickly, wrenching her arm and halting her suddenly. The sudden cessation of movement temporarily dislodges the demon and she gasps in relief, only for it to return with vengeance. It tears into her, forcing her to turn into herself, releasing the root. She does not move but she screams and writhes in pain.

The ground shakes and the demon hisses, its movements halting but it remains atop her. Serahlin doesn’t dare look up, only hoping for a reprieve, just…something to stop it. Stop it all. How does this keep happening? Running from monster to monster right to another monster. Is this world just so plagued that this is her fate? To be hounded and harmed and thrown to death time and time again? What a cruel fate, to never know lasting peace, to never have happiness be a constant fixture in her life. The pain of that is enough to make her sob, physical and spiritual pain surrounding her in a bubble that makes the demon screech in delight.

The dragon _roars_ in retaliation, the sound deafening. Sudden heat fills the air and the demon is wrenched away from her. Serahlin gasps in pain of the removal of the claws but oh the relief! The pressure and pain ease, making her eyes snap open –

To see the dragon, the great and terrible dragon of the forest, pinning the demon, much larger and more solid seeming now, to the ground. It pulls its head back, golden mane moving almost beautifully with it. Its maw opens and from it spews a geyser of steam. The demon _screams_ and shatters into a dozen dark shards.

It…killed the demon.

The dragon lifts a clawed hand and waves it over the shards. Magic fills the air as light blasts from the dragon’s palm. When it rests the hand, the shards are no longer dark but filled with soft light. It…not only killed the demon but managed to somehow purify shards? She has never heard of such a thing

Maybe…maybe it has forgotten she is here. The demon was very distracting as was the magic. Maybe, just maybe she can just…sneak away.

But when Serahlin tries to move away, she collapses against the ground, pain blooming anew in her chest. Her ribs…something is _wrong_.

The dragon’s head snaps towards her and the last thing she sees are its yellow eyes that are somehow vaguely familiar.

_I’m so sorry, Adannar…I failed._

**

This is _not_ how Adannar wanted Serahlin to discover his nature. And now she is injured on the forest floor, after witnessing him _killing_. He should have taken care of Torment years ago, he knows, and now she is paying for his inability to act.

A sound of torment escapes him, and he fears it just sounds…beastly. But she is unconscious now, limp and most likely internally bleeding after falling so far.

With ever so much care, Adannar picks her prone body up and murmurs a healing spell over her. It will keep her until he can heal her properly back in his home. He takes to the sky after some of the worst of the bleeding is resolved and hopes to everything good in this world that she will recover. He would not be able to handle her not, truly.

He takes her to a guest room that he has managed to clean in the recent months of knowing her. He had hoped he would one day bring her here, that she would sleep in this bed, surrounded by all the beautiful things he has collected throughout the years. He wanted to show her all of the beautiful things, to tell her stories of the people who once came to see him.

But now…she is alive, but hurt. She is surrounded by the beautiful things but all he cares about now is making sure that she is alright.

He spends the next two days laboring over her healing. He wishes she was stable enough for him to take her to Selene, but he does not even know if Selene would tolerate having someone like Serahlin in the Glass Tower. After all that she has been through…after her self-imposed isolation, he doubts it.

The first day is the worst. She has several broken ribs and one of her lungs ended up collapsing after he repaired the ribs. She lost a lot of blood to the demon and he has to replenish it somehow. He generally dislikes using spirit shards for anything other than helping birth new spirits, but he is filled with enough anger at Torment that he uses its shards to power himself to heal her. All of the shards, filling her so much with magical healing energy that it makes her hair grow even longer and her skin glow faintly.

He remembers when Torment was Composure. Brought into existence by a group of dignitaries from Veharan. But it had corrupted after the long years of isolation and the general lack of composure of everything around it. Now it will serve to bring the woman who had so exemplified its former self back to life.

The second day, Adannar cries. A poet once wrote that the reason rivers existed because dragons would cry atop mountains and the sadness had to flow somewhere. Oceans were of sorrow and sadness, of joyous triumph. It was a beautiful sentiment, incorrect but beautiful. But he does take care to cry into the river that runs under his lair, flowing from his home waterfall.

She brought so much light to this dark place. She made him feel joy again, made him feel more like himself than he has in hundreds of years. And he had only ever wanted to make her feel the same. He wants her to know the joy she has made him feel, he wants her to be surrounded by love and light and everything good. And instead, tragedy strikes.

He returns to her side, shifted into his elf form. He can feel her healing aura even down in the cellar and he worries he will shock her too badly if he remains in his true form. It is not much trouble to ensure she is comfortable. But if she asks…he will not lie. He cannot lie to her anymore, it is wrong, and she…she deserves to walk away if she wishes. He would not blame her if she did, not after…all this.

Adannar watches over her through the night, trying not to fall asleep. Sleeping in too late is what got them all into this mess. He had been resting so wonderfully, so deeply and perfectly, that he had not realized that he had not woken at the appropriate time to see her. He does not know why she decided to come looking for him, is it too much to hope that she had searched for him out of worry? And what a terrible fright to find his lair, finding him yes, but also finding something she had been taught to fear.

On the third day, Serahlin wakes. It is slow and Adannar must restrain himself from fussing too much over her.

“Memae…?” She murmurs, lifting her hand in his direction. He takes it gently between his and settles next to her.

“No, darling, it’s me, Adannar,” he tells her, smoothing hair away from her face. Serahlin blinks her eyes open, not only pink but faintly glowing with magic. And oh when she _smiles_ it is like being bathed in holy light.

“Sweet Adannar,” she says, reaching up to his face, “if this is death, then it cannot be so bad if I am with you.”

His heart aches at the sentiment and he lets her pull him down to her, kissing her long and slow. She is warm and pliant so full of life. When he pulls back, he cups her face and regards her with the softest expression he can.

“As beautiful a sentiment that is, my dear, you are not dead, and neither am I.” Her brow scrunches in confusion and she shakes her head.

“How?”

“I healed your injuries with the shards of the demon,” he explains but her confusion remains.

“That does not make any sense. Huirin lead me into the dragon’s lair when I asked him to take me to you.” It is only then that she looks around and recognition dawns on her face. He is leaning back as she sits up, fear and shock bleeding off her.

“I…” she stops then turns to him, her once soft gaze now knowing and fearful, “ _you_?”

He nods slowly, “I did not know how to tell you.”

“You…you…you _lied_ to me?” She accuses, and he flinches. She is right, he lied and he has no recourse.

“I was afraid,” he says, unsure of how else to explain.

“ _You?_ You were afraid? You are a dragon!” She says, horror creeping into her voice. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never hurt you,” he says quickly.

“I don’t know that!” She responds just as quickly. He cannot meet her gaze, all he feels is shame for letting it go on for this long.

“Once, when the times were different, and my kind were not hunted or turned into storybook villains, I would have not hidden it. I was…afraid that you would know and refuse to know me, refuse any help I have to offer. It was wrong of me, selfish and wrong and I am so, so sorry.”

She draws her blanket around herself and moves into the corner of the bed as far away from him as she can get.

“You were never in any danger from me,” he says softly, “please, I…was afraid if you knew you would inform knights or someone.”

“So you _lied_?!”

“I did not mean for it to go on as long as it did. But I also did not expect to become so enamored with you, either, and I couldn’t…I was wrong.”

She is quiet for a long time, staring at him with the same horrified expression. He cannot tell what the worse crime is – being a dragon or lying about _not_ being a dragon. But he knows that he never wanted this, and that his concealment has only made everything worse.

“So it is my fault that you fell in love with me and you couldn’t tell me the truth?” Her voice is low and sharp and it cuts him to down to size.

“No! It is my fault, I place none of the blame at your feet. I am…I was so wrong, and I have no preconceptions of your forgiveness.”

“I…can leave? I am not your prisoner?” She asks and that hurts too, to think that she ever thought he would be capable of such a horrid thing. He nods slowly.

“If it is your wish to leave, then I will not stop you, and neither will any of my creations. I will ensure your safety out of the forest even. You should not have to pay for my mistakes.”

She falls silent and he can see her thinking, coming to a conclusion that will hurt, but one he will respect.

“That is what I wish,” she murmurs. He nods and steps back.

“Very well. You may dress and then either I or Huirin can take you to your horse,” he says, keeping as much emotion from his voice as possible.

“I would prefer Huirin,” she replies and he nods again.

“It will be arranged. I hope you find all the happiness and joy your heart desires,” he says, leaving the room. He wants the last word to be kind and good and he cannot stand the thought of anything else. If she leaves, he wants her to remember as fondly as possible under the circumstances.

Adannar leaves her room and finds Huirin. He gives the deer instructions to wait for Serahlin then to take her to Velini. The horse had suffered some minor injuries but those had been easily healed. He has primarily rested and eaten in the past few days, and now he can take his rider back…to wherever she wishes to go.

Melancholy and heartache fill him so intensely, he must retreat to his rooms. But a restlessness takes hold, as well as a greediness to see her one last time. He moves from his rooms to the atrium, it is up higher into the mountain, with a great lift that allows him to rise quickly to the top of the mountain if he does not wish to don his true form. The glass ceiling opens like a flower and he steps out onto a small balcony, just in time to watch her ride out of his lair and into the forest.

Even now, his magic reaches out to her, surrounds her in a protective shield from whatever may threaten her in the forest. She will be protected in this place, even as she runs from it. And he will love her, even as she scorns him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


	9. The Prince Had A Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen, Falon'din, Sylaise, and Mythal belong to Feynite. Selene belongs to SeleneLavellan. 
> 
> WARNING: towards the end for blood, assault (not sexual), blood, violence.

Selene’s visit is a constant thought in Dirthamen’s head. He reminisces on the feel of her lips against his, the softness she displayed, and then the suddenness of her departure. She had apologized but he cannot think of any reason why she felt the need. His initial surprise gave way to acceptance and even reciprocation, he welcomed her touch. Yet she apologized then left.

These thoughts are distracting him, but he cannot bring himself to be particularly bothered by the distraction.

He likes Selene, he finds her beautiful and compelling and surprisingly kind. Surprising because her kindness flies in the face in everything they have believed about dragons to be true. It makes him think that perhaps the empire has been wrong about the dragons. Or perhaps Selene is just an outlier. It is hard to say without a better sample of dragons to observe and know.

Falon’din leaves a week after Selene’s visit, though Dirthamen cannot figure out why. He has not gained anything but the fear of the castle’s occupants. Dirthamen cannot help but feel a wave of relief to watch his brother and entourage ride back to their own lands.

With his brother’s departure, Dirthamen can finally resume life as normal. Or as normal as it has been for the past several months. He oversees his people and lands and participates as frequently as he can in the research his people are conducting. 

A current project is endeavoring to create an intentional magic siphon to perhaps power the palace, potentially more. The research is slow going, but promising. Despite his best efforts to be present mentally for the research, his mind wanders to Selene. He tells himself it is because he wants to see the Glass Tower to aid in the research, but in truth, he simply wants to see _her_.

The weeks pass and his anticipation to see her grows. By the time it is time to leave, he feels like he is going to vibrate out of his skin. He is excited, worried, and hopeful. It is a powerful emotional cocktail that has him urging his horse just that bit faster down the road. His satchel is full of more books than usual because he could not simply choose one.

It is sunset when he arrives. The sky is painted in saturated hues of orange, purple, and pink, turning the forest into new colors. The more he has traveled here, the more he has discovered he can see the ambient magic, catching the light and surrounding the trees, moving with the animals. It’s an interesting thing to suddenly be so aware of it. Once he had longed to understand and see more magic, and now that he can…he could not accurately predict it. The way the magic feels against his skin, the gentle pricking sensation that is oddly pleasant, or the way it bends the light, delighting his eyes. Even eating fruit off the trees tastes different, an apple is more than an apple with the magic deep within it. The sensations and feelings are nearly overwhelming, but he is not overwhelmed yet, so he decides to delight in them instead.

When she finds him, he is by a blackberry bush, his fingers nearly stained purple. He is still chewing on a particularly sweet berry when she smiles and unsuccessfully suppresses a giggle. He smiles with purple teeth in response, making her eyes crinkle and the magic around her light up in stunning mirth.

“I see you have taken a liking to the forest.”

“These blackberries are delicious,” far more so that the ones grown in the empire, even. Is it the magic?

Selene moves to him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder and her other to still his hand from eating more.

“You must be careful on how much you eat, I have heard of elves becoming…too enamored with magical foods. Long ago, there were those who never wished to leave after dining in the forest,” she says. Dirthamen thinks he does not want to leave, but it has less to do with fruit and more to do with her. He retracts his hand from the bush and finds himself enamored with her hair. It has always been white, but there is a luminescence to it now that makes him want to touch it.

“You are very beautiful,” he says without much thought. She blushes and looks away for a moment before returning his smile.

“Thank you, you’re beautiful too.”

He has not been called beautiful before, has not wanted for it. But hearing Selene say so brings out a sweet, warm emotion inside of him. It makes him want to kiss her again. He is unsure if that is appropriate, given the circumstances, or if she even feels the same. He kissed her once and she had fled immediately after. Even if she denies that he did anything wrong, he does not want to push her further away.

“Come, let me ensure your continued survival,” she says, guiding him to the clearing. She stops him from kneeling this time, however, and smooths his hair away from his face. She is contemplative and slow, and he dares not speak lest he ruin the atmosphere.

Her hand crests over an ear and a shiver runs through him. She moves her hand to cup his cheek, her eyes growing hooded as she leans in and gently presses her lips to his. He leans into her quickly, relieved that she in some way returns his affections even after the odd way things ended that night. Her lips are soft, she is soft, and he leans into her, even as he feels the magic swirl into him from her lips.

This is a much nicer mode of transmission, he thinks.

She leans back into him, deepening the kiss. The magic flows from her and into him, tying him close to her. He takes it in, kissing it from her lips.

The flow of magic ceases and he sighs. She pulls away, but her thumb brushes against his cheek.

“You taste like blackberries.” Selene licks her lips. He resists telling her she tastes like magic. Dirthamen sways forward, just a little. Is it possible to become inebriated from magical kisses, he wonders. Because if it is, surely, he is thoroughly intoxicated and desiring more.

“Do you like blackberries?” He asks instead.

She licks her lips again, “I do, but I like you more.” She kisses him again and while there is no casting, he feels her magic radiating from her. Like another heartbeat under her skin. His hands rise and cup her face, feeling the softness of her skin and hair.

Again, she pulls away, flushed and beautiful.

“Is this what you want?” She asks softly. What a strange question.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to, because you don’t! I…I’ve been told dragons tend to get carried away in courtships, particularly with those who are not dragons and I don’t want you to feel like you’re being taken advantage of, you can say no! Please say no if you don’t want something! I won’t be upset or mad or anything.”

He blinks then takes her hand which has moved from his face to the front of her body, gesturing as she rambles.

“I like kissing you. I like you.”

“Oh.” How someone with so much power and magic can appear so endearing and shocked is amazing. And adorable. Inspired, Dirthamen leans forward and kisses her forehead. Her blush deepens making his heart flutter.

“I brought you more books,” he says, suddenly remembering the overfull satchel. Her face lights up and they move back to his horse. The books are varied, two novels, a new mathematical tome that he believes she will find interesting, and one book of poetry that made him think of her while he was reading it.

Selene takes them all with words of gratitude. She even kisses his cheek. The affection warms him, makes him happy and want to try for more.

“There are few records in the empire on the Glass Tower,” he says. Selene grows still and her ear twitches, hands on the satchel full of books.

“Some secrets are best left unknown,” she says softly, turning from him.

“I do not seek power,” he says, “I merely wish to know you and where you live.”

“The Glass Tower is…” she stops herself and he mentally kicks himself for bringing it up. She’s upset and he didn’t…he is curious, that is all.

Selene sighs and turns back towards him, “Before the Empire, the Tower was a place for those gifted with ability to wield magic like a blacksmith wields a hammer. People from all over came to research and work together to unravel the mysteries of this world. They drew in the magic from all around, creating one of the first…what did you call them? Siphons? It became a birth place for a myriad of spirits. It was an amazing time. But then…there was an incident. The Tower grew quiet. I stay to…keep a memory.”

Dirthamen is quiet for a moment. He reaches for Selene, gently taking her hand.

“Dragons are former spirits.”

“Yes.”

“What were you?”

A curious light enters her eyes and a rueful smile spread across her face as she turns to him.

“The Tower used to grant entry to those who could answer a riddle. It would be fitting to give you one to grant you the access you desire. Discover what former spirit I was, and I will allow you access to the Tower.”

“That is not a riddle.”

She chuckles, “You’re right. Then allow me to rephrase. What do lovers and researchers both need to be successful, but not all have?”

“That is not a good riddle.”

“My strengths lie in mathematics, not riddles,” she admits, “I will give you until the next full moon to answer it.”

“Then allow me to write it down.” He grabs a piece of parchment from his satchel and writes the ‘riddle’. Lovers and researchers – apt for their relationship.

“Come to the Glass Tower next full moon,” she tells him before kissing him quickly. It is a sweet kiss, and he leans toward her even after she pulls away. It is a goodbye kiss but she stays and their conversation turns to the books she has read while he has been away. He tells her about the goings on in his life.

But even as they fall into the usual rhythm of these nights, he thinks about her riddle. It is not a difficult one, he thinks. She would be a spirit of a certain amount of power to become a dragon, the only issue is then figuring what commonality between researchers and lovers she is. Or was.

The next day, Dirthamen begins his journey back to his palace. Researchers and lovers. Once home, he begins to write down what he knows between the two and he knows of Selene.

Researchers need curiosity, methodology, ingenuity, passion for their subject, desire to know, inquisitiveness, dedication to the pursuit, intelligence, knowledge… the list goes on.

Lovers need passion, love, curiosity, desire, intimacy, trust, compassion, support… again, the list goes on.

He spends a week on coming up with all the potential spirits that could be brought into being by a researcher and a lover. By the end of the week, the list is several pages long and he does not feel like he has gotten anywhere.

After hitting what feels like a block, he approaches the riddle from a different point of view. The point is to guess what former spirit Selene was. The riddle is secondary to the process. He thinks of the words she uses, of the way she said them, the wistfulness that seems to shroud her. Her softness and mercy come to mind, the way she seems so adamant to protect specifically the Glass Tower.

Dirthamen pulls a tome on dragons out from one of the libraries one evening. Looking for some insight that may assist him in any way. On the third day of reading, he finds a passage about the origins of dragons.

_Dragons are territorial by nature. The place that they came into being a spirit holds not only emotional significance for them, but it is also a personal bastion of power. Dragons are most powerful at the place where they came into being. Such encounters have been observed numerous times from King Elgar’nan and his stalwart scribe, Paetris._

_The battle against feared dragon, Durevin, once known as Greed, took place over many days. It began at the ruins of an old castle, where Durevin was nigh invincible. It was only when the mighty Elgar’nan was able to lure the beast away from his home that he became vulnerable enough to kill. Since this battle, knights have maintained a reluctance to fight a dragon in its place of origin._

Dirthamen sets the book down and contemplates the implications. The Glass Tower is a great siphon of magic, separate from Selene, and she guards it to the point where she is willing to kill for it. By this point, he knows she is not a soul who comes to killing easily. She retracts from causing any harm, displayed by her many strides to ensure his own comfort.

But the Tower exacts from her a deadly protectiveness. He recalls the first night he met her, the power she displayed, the magic filling the night air in an overwhelming display.

The Glass Tower is her place of origin.

It does not answer the riddle, but the knowledge is good to have. It is also reassuring. She does not show any willingness to leave the Tower, meaning that his family and their knights are far less likely to hunt her. That is of course ensuring that he keeps going to her in a timely manner to prevent her from flying to him once more.

His heart constricts and he swallows thickly. He knew she was endangering herself when she flew to him, but to leave her Tower, her bastion of safety, for him. His hands shake as he contemplates the fate if she had been discovered. His brother…his brother would not hesitate. He has never shown any inclination to spare any potential prey. And Dirthamen’s sister if she had known as well….

These are not thoughts he should entertain. The truth of the matter is that she was not discovered, and she is safe in her Tower, surrounded by her magic and her books. It has only been two weeks since he has seen her, but he feels the need to see her, to touch her and know she is safe. Even if these thoughts are not real, even if Falon’din and Andruil and Father know nothing of her, he wants to hold her once more. Kiss her until all his fears are assuaged and kiss her more after that too.

He goes to bed that night with his head full of fears and not a small fire of arousal. When he wakes, he spies the lists of potential spirits he had written previously. His brow furrows as he quickly eliminates some as candidates.

No to curiosity. Though Selene is curious, it does not strike him as central to her to be what she was.

No to passion and to knowledge. He pauses over ingenuity and creativity – she had come up with the solution of not being able to kill him but also not being able to entirely let him go quickly and well. But he crosses those off as well, thinking of her softness and wistfulness. He lingers over trust, but her suspicion and guardedness makes him cross that off too. Compassion, maybe. Love…likely.

Desire, however, seems the likeliest of them all. She does not do anything she does not desire, including not killing. She really could have killed him, killed all of the initial research party truly, but she did not want to. She did not want to cause him harm and change the spell that kept him bound, even though she did not have to. She flew to him because she wanted to, as well. She desire knowledge more than embodying it, which is why she took his offered books with such zeal.

Dirthamen spends the day in a satisfied state at figuring out the riddle. She was Desire. A beautiful spirit of desire who became a powerful dragon. Researchers have a desire for knowledge and lovers have the desire for each other.

He revels in the success until night and he retursn to his room to spy another word. Devotion. It is only on the lover’s list, but it could easily apply to researchers as well. They are devoted to their subjects. And without such devotion, they will not be successful in their pursuit for knowledge. Lovers only remain lovers if they are devoted. Desire is the spark for them, but it is devotion that it keeps it constant.

Devotion. Such a soft emotion, one that fits her, he feels. But Desire makes sense.

Dirthamen’s brow furrows as he takes the two words to bed with him. Desire and Devotion.

He has not fully decided by the time of the next full moon, even as much as he analyzes it over and over again. He urges his horse to the Glass Tower, hitching the mare to a post just outside the Tower. The air rumbles and Selene descends from the top of the Tower in her dragon form. She is great and long, white scales glowing in the moonlight. The feathers of her wings ruffle with the breeze and he wonders if they are as soft as her hair.

Selene leans her head forward, great green eyes peering at him.

“Dirthamen, do you have an answer for me?” She asks.

“I have thought about your riddle and have come to two possibilities,” he says truthfully. Her eyes sharpen with interest and the magic around her wavers in what he thinks is anticipation.

“Two?”

“Yes. Researchers and lovers both require desire to be successful in their pursuits. Lovers must desire the other in some capacity, and researchers must desire the knowledge from their research.”

“Is your answer Desire?”

“But they also both require devotion, a rarer emotion felt by researchers and lovers. I have seen researchers who have lost desire but remain devoted and become successful.”

“What is your answer?” She asks once more. He straightens his back, finally thinking he has his answer.

“Devotion,” he replies, “you were Devotion.”

The air flutters and Selene flaps her wings, rising up along the Tower. She turns and wraps her long body around the structure so that her head rests above the tall doors. With a great creaking and WHOOSH of air and magic, the doors slowly open.

“Congratulations,” she says, “you have won access to the Glass Tower.”

A giddy triumph fills him as he steps through the threshold, feeling a sudden wave of magic and wonderment flow over him. While the exterior of the Tower appears to be a thousand mirrors all tacked on top of each other, refracting the light and appearing crystalline, the interior is warm. Unlike the towers of the empire, the primary structure is wooden, not stone. What he believed to be stone before must have simply been compressed and fortified wood, maybe even bark.

There is a central staircase, winding up three stories with intricate white wooden railing. The walls are lines with shelves, filled with books and other apparatuses that he has no names for. Light is provided by a chandelier of dozens of glowing stones and sconces of purple fire floating by the walls.

“Do you like it?” Selene calls down from the top of the stairs, back in her elven form. She is in a white feathered pearlescent dress and she appears very spirit like with the light around her. He swallows, trying to find the words for the amazement he feels for the tower and the awe she has inspired in him.

“That is an inadequate word,” he says finally as she begins to descend.

“Acolytes would travel far just to learn from the researchers here. It used to be so full of life, spirits were seen and treated as equals. The learning that happened here….” Her voice trails off into sadness as she remembers what once was.

It must have been so exciting, he thinks, to see this place filled with people who shared a common pursuit for knowledge. Now that he is inside, he can feel the pull the Tower has. It is a different sort of pull than Selene’s. Where magic gravitates towards her and a certain aura of magic lingers around her, the Tower is quite literally pulling the magic to it. Being in the center of it is what he imagines standing in the eye of a storm feels like. The latent power is both thrilling and terrifying.

But he is reassured as Selene rounds the bottom of the stairs and strides to him. She reaches for him and he for her until they are standing in the middle of the room, her hands on his face. His hands rest at her waist feeling the softness of her dress. There are scales around her eyes today.

The kiss begins with her spell, but she does not move away afterwards. It continues until their breaths are labored and her lips are plump. She leans against him, eyes hooded, hands gripping his arms.

“I should…give you a tour,” she breathes. Oh. That does actually sound quite nice, he thinks. But holding her and kissing her also sounds nice.

“May I hold your hand during the tour?” He asks. She smiles and presses a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Yes.”

**

Dirthamen spends the next few months in a state of hidden euphoria. When he is not with Selene in the Glass Tower, he is back at his palace thinking about being Selene in the Glass Tower. His trips to her are becoming more and more extended. Last month he accidentally spent two weeks with her. She gave him clothes, though he spent half the time quite naked and in her bed. When he returned, he found he had worried most of his people and Mother had summoned him to the capital to discuss matters.

That is never good.

The trip is set for after the next full moon, thankfully, but there is a high chance he will miss the full moon after that. Visits at the capital are never short and the travel is long as well. He does not wish to die but he also does not want Selene to risk herself by flying to the capital. The number of knights who would be able to slay her is too great.

His next visit, he broaches the topic while curled around her elven form on the second night of his stay.

“I will likely miss the next full moon. I have been summoned to the capital and it is far. I do not wish to go but I must, I…do not know what to do. I do not want to leave you,” he whispers, finger trailing across her collarbone. Selene sighs but she does not retract from him.

“I will make you a potion. Do you think you will miss more than one?”

That is surprisingly easy.

“Potentially.”

“I will make you three, take them over the full moon and it will renew the spell. I will miss you,” she says, nuzzling his hair, running her hands down his arms. Arousal curls around them lazily, not enough to move them, but enough to sit low in Dirthamen in a pleasant warmth.

“I will miss you too,” he tells her. More and more he finds his time with her in this place is preferable to the time he spends at his palace. It is more than the magic he feels here, more than the books and the knowledge, though all of those things are draws in their own right. If he thought long enough on it, he could figure out how to bring those things to him, however. No, it is Selene.

He is falling in love with her.

Feeling affectionate, Dirthamen leans up and kisses her, long and deep. She wraps her arms and legs around him, further igniting that low flame of arousal. They fall back into each other again…and again. He wonders if all dragons are as enamored with physical touch as Selene is or if it is a personal trait. Certainly none of the tomes on dragons back home have anything like this written in them. There is no manual on how to court a dragon, and what their romantic and physical affectionate tendencies might be.

Some part of him finds falling in love with her wrong. It goes against everything he was raised to believe. And yet it feels natural to love her, like putting on his favorite cloak. She is not the beast the dragons in the books and tales are, she is kind and soft, intelligent and beautiful. She understands him in a way that he has not felt before. Not even his brother, perhaps especially his brother.

Dirthamen falls asleep atop her and wakes to find her making a potion, presumably the one he will be taking for the next few months. She finishes it then pours it into three separate vials, stopping them with thick corks. She swirls the liquid in each before putting them in a satchel. He feels the shift in magic as she waves a hand over the bag.

“Will you place your hand here, please?” She requests. He rises, donning a robe she found in an old chest. He holds his hand out over the satchel and feels the magic react to him. It is a warm tingling sensation. Not unpleasant but odd.

“There. It will only open at your touch.”

“Clever.”

“Thank you,” she kisses his cheek then takes his hand, leading him away from the room, “come! We have breakfast to eat and a whole wing of the library on the twentieth floor to explore!” 

**

“Eletharan has remained removed from the fight for too long,” Mother says, strolling slowly around the table in the middle of the room. A map of the known world is spread before them, several treaties, notes, and letters are stacked on corners of the table, counting alliances and conquered territories.

The map is relatively new, accounting for the recently annexed territory of Ghilan’nain’s people. But it has been close to a decade since Andruil’s nuptials. It fits that Mother would begin to grow restless again, her eye for expansion wandering back to Eletharan.

Dirthamen should be paying attention but his mind continues to wander back to the forest to a certain dragoness. Leaving her that last day had been difficult, leaving his palace had filled him with anxiety. The potion will work, he doubts she would simply allow him to die, not after everything. Still, he worries that the potions will not work and she will fly to the capital only to be discovered.

“We should invade,” Falon’din says, pulling Dirthamen out of his reverie. The suggestion is not a surprise. Before Andruil was born, he burned down acres of the eastern forest to clear out rebels who had taken shelter there. That forest had been very different from the western forest, however.

Mother shakes her head, “That would work if it were not for the forest –

“Then burn the forest!”

“That is not possible,” Dirthamen says, “the magic in the forest makes any attempt to combat it to close to impossible.”

“Then we take the fleet to their shores!” Falon’din shouts. Dirthamen purses his lips. That will not work either. Their fleet is not large enough, current treasury expenditures for military expenses have gone to outfitting their Calvary, not their navy.

“Enough,” Mother raises her voice, “There is another way to make Eletharan join us.” Dirthamen folds his hands in his lap and waits. Falon’din crosses his arms like he did when they were smaller.

“Felena has two daughters, both of marriageable age. It has worked well in the past, it can work well here.”

Falon’din’s scowl deepens, his eyes narrow, making Dirthamen tense reflexively.

“No! I refuse to marry some stupid, ugly bitch.”

Dirthamen does not mention that they have never met the women, they do not if they are attractive or unintelligent. Mother doesn’t seem surprised and slowly shifts her gaze to Dirthamen.

“I know, we need you here, inspiring troops. What we need is someone who can infiltrate the palace and take it over from within. As brave and inspiring you are, my dear son, you are not subtle. Dirthamen,” she says, “however, is.”

His brother’s eyes widen and he leaps from his seat, “Absolutely not! He is my brother! He belongs with me!”

“Settle down, Falon’din, this would only be a temporary situation. Once Dirthamen marries the girl, plans will be put in place and the country will be ours. You will have a whole new populace to recruit from.” Falon’din sits back down but his face remains angry and Dirthamen knows it is only a temporary placation.

Mother does not mention how taking over Eletharan will be managed. He knows about Eletharan, but country politics have never held his attention for long, especially compared to his current magical research. And then there is Selene. Marrying one of Felena’s daughters would put him at risk of not being able to have the magic renewed, and that would mean not seeing Selene.

His heart falls to his stomach.

“Dirthamen?” She asks. Sometimes he wonders why she bothers with the pretense of asking any of them for permission. But it is a bluff he will take.

“No,” he says simply. Mother’s eyes widen and Falon’din grins.

“Good.”

“Dirthamen, perhaps you did not understand correctly what is going on here – your marriage would be temporary, a farce, and –

“I understand,” he says, “I am not interested.” He rises from his seat and walks to the table.

“There will be another way to pressure Eletharan to joining the fight, Mother.” He leaves the room, wanting mostly to return home to research. With every visit, Arlathan grows more distant to him.

Dirthamen returns to his rooms, his hands shaking. Mother is not going to let this go. He called her bluff but that means very little. It is not like he can tell her he is seeing someone else and that marriage to one of the princesses would ruin that. If Mother discovered Selene…that is an even worse thought. She would be killed, her head and hide taken as grotesque trophies for either his brother or sister.

Marriage to one of the princesses would create a bond. He would feel and know her, perhaps even love her. He does not know how Selene would feel about that. He certainly feels a conflict, particularly since this move is to pursue more dragons. His marriage to an Eletharan princess would increase the chances of his family discovering and killing Selene.

But without a proper excuse, he cannot truly refuse Mother. It leaves him with a choice and both lead to a greater risk of Selene dying.

Distressed, he spends the rest of the afternoon in his chambers, bathing and otherwise keeping himself away from the rest of his family. His thoughts are filled with Selene, concerned and otherwise. He languishes in the bath until the temperature becomes uncomfortable. He retires to his bed, feeling sick to his stomach. He is not surprised, however, when a knock resounds against his door.

His eyes close in frustrated acceptance before rising and answering the door.

“Dirthamen,” Mother greets.

“Good evening, Mother,” he replies. They take opposite seats in the front room.

She pauses for a long moment before speaking, “Have I ever told you about how I came to be your mother?” It is not a question he is expecting. He knows what happened, but he has never heard it from her.

“No.”

“It was during the Unification War,” she begins, leaning back in the chair. He knows the story is kept secret, that it could have unfortunate implications if the wrong people found out. Falon’din doesn’t know, or if he has heard the tale, he didn’t believe it. Their sisters do not know the stories either, he made sure to keep the secrets close to him.

Mother has been tight lipped about it for centuries, why would she choose now to speak of it?

She continues, “Your father and I wanted to have children, but every time we thought we could, something would intervene. But one day, your father and I attended a scouting party in the western wood. The forest was dark and treacherous, full of creatures ready to kill us. And then the most unexpected noise caught our attention. A baby’s cry, far away, but we knew we had to find it. We went deeper into the forest and in a small clearing, we found you and your brother. He was screaming, and you were so scared. Your father picked your brother up to soothe him, and I picked you. I held you close and while you were not crying, I knew you were scared, so I held you close. You became my son that day, you and your brother, and I vowed to do everything within my power to ensure you were safe, that this world would be safe for you.”

Dirthamen remains still, waiting to see where she is going with this.

“We searched for years for who had done this to you and your brother. But no one was to be found. You have been my baby since,” she says.

“I am no longer an infant,” is the only response he can think of currently. His worries have drained his energy along with the numerous functions before today’s meeting. 

“No, you are not, but the world is still dangerous, and a mother never stops trying to protect her children.” She rises from her seat and stands close to him, reaching down to hold his face. She holds him still as she bends down and puts her face close to his.

“Everything I have done, everything I do, is for you. This marriage would keep you safe, you and your brother and your sisters – the beasts in this world would have a much harder time wreaking destruction upon the People,” she says, voice soft but…firm. He may have called her bluff, but she is not accepting his refusal, just as he thought she would.

He thinks of Selene in that moment. He wonders what she would think, what she will think of him marrying someone he does not even know. He thinks of being firm with Mother and what that would do. But perhaps if he marries one of the princesses and positions himself into power, he could manage to protect Selene in some way. It is a small chance, but it is a chance he will take.

“I agree, but I would like to have a say in which daughter I marry.” Even if the marriage is mostly a sham, the bond will not be. He would prefer that his…wife is a pleasant sort.

Mother smiles and kisses his forehead, “Of course, my dear. I knew you would do the right thing by your people, and by your family.” She pats his head then leaves. He lets out a breath of relief after she leaves. He moves to his balcony to look up at the full moon. How will he tell Selene? How much longer does he have with her? Will she understand?

The meetings end quickly after he capitulates. Falon’din voices more of his objections to Dirthamen leaving, but the decision has been made. Out of all the things Dirthamen is concerned about, for once it is not about leaving his brother.

If Falon’din knew….

Dirthamen needs to stop thinking about this.

He leaves the capital a day later, assuring his brother of his loyalty. By the time he enters the carriage to take him to his city to the north, he is exhausted. He falls against the cushions and wraps himself in a dark sphere, blotting out light and sound. It is a spell he learned from the Glass Tower. It was to help calm certain spirits and was found to have applications for some people as well. The carriage doors are already enchanted and reinforced to prevent entry without his permission, allowing him to slip comfortably into his bubble. It does not take long for him to fall into a deep sleep.

The ride takes several days to reach his city, but it is a comfortable and uneventful ride. His attendants and guards are familiar and not quite as tiring as his family. Unfortunately, it is nearly a full month until the next full moon.

Dirthamen uses the time to check up on the cataloguing project. It is an endeavor to compile all the names of spirits that became dragons and their locations. It was intended to help his family pin-point where spirits who would become dragons in the future to prevent them, but now…now he wants to bury the research. Anything that will potentially aid in Selene’s discovery is dangerous and should be kept secret. He cannot simply end the research, but he can move it into greater secrecy. His family has never shown much interest in his research, anyways, they will hardly miss a few specific topics that are moved to more classified restrictions.

The researchers may raise suspicions, but he writes it away as wishing to limit of false information being given to his family. It is not a lie exactly, he does not want false information to leak – he does not want any information to leak.

He spends the rest of the month classifying research and allocating knowledge to create more secrecy to dragons and anything specific to Selene. It is extensive work. There is an account of a male dragon similar to Selene’s form that he classifies as well, just in case, worried that she had been seen but misclassified. The male dragon was never caught, never engaged with again – perhaps it was actually Selene. Dirthamen is disinclined to take any chances.

Nervous energy still plagues him when he goes to her. The magic in the forest does not feel welcome like it has previously, instead it pricks at his already sensitive skin and makes his head fill with an unpleasant fuzz. He casts a smaller version of the isolation bubble, just around his head to hopefully dull some of the sensations. It helps, but it is not curative.

The Glass Tower is it always is. It almost seems wrong for it to be the same while he feels like his world has shifted. It opens up to him after he hitches his horse as he does, bringing in a small bag of his things with him.

Selene is in her dragon form, lounging in the main room, her wings folded tightly to her body. She blinks and bright white light beams from her as she shrinks into her elven form. A very naked elven form.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, taking his hand to lead him back to the large room where they normally lie together. His mouth grows dry and he would like nothing more than to fall into her, let himself forget the trials of his home. At least for a little while.

Selene does an excellent job of keeping his mind far from home. She is wearing more scales than normal today, the texture smooth and delightful as he runs his hand down her back. Her teeth are sharper too, and heavy horns rest upon her head.

Hours later, Dirthamen feels like he is boneless. The fuzz in his head has dissipated greatly and the magic in the air feels less abrasive.

“You don’t mind the scales?” She asks quietly.

“No. I enjoy feeling them, I enjoy feeling you – skin or scales.” He kisses her scaled shoulder.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll roll you back over,” she whispers, leaning to nip at his ear. He shivers and rolls over, happy to enjoy more of her attention.

They fall asleep hours later in the warm sated afterglow. Morning brings with it a greater pressure to talk to her. He knows he needs to, but it is difficult. She has much she wants to show him and talk about and he wants to see these things, wants to hear her thoughts. It is not until the evening after she has returned from a hunt that he finds the ability to bring up the subject.

“Selene,” he begins, “the trip to the capital was more eventful than I had initially believed it would be.”

“Oh?”

He nods, “Mother wants an alliance with the neighboring kingdom. Previous attempts have not been successful.”

Selene tenses, going still as she listens to him.

“The queen of Eletharan has two daughters of marriageable age and I am to marry one of them. It is not my wish but if I refuse it will be investigated as to why.” He cannot look at her, the guilt and fear gnawing at him.

The silence stretches and he fears before the room wavers with magic and Selene’s hands are touching his face.

“An investigation could potentially reveal me to them. You agreed to it to protect me?”

He gives a curt nod.

“Oh Dirthamen,” there is no anger in her voice. There is no accusation or ill-intent. His eyes flick over to her to see drawn eyebrows and a concerned expression. No anger? Falon’din’s anger had been immediate.

_He is mine!_

“Do you know anything about these women?” She asks. He shakes his head and she lets out a long breath.

“Thank you for protecting me, you didn’t have to, not after…I’ve enchanted you, made you think you’d die if you didn’t come here. I-I seduced you and you’re trying to protect me. This is so messed up,” she babbles and something catches his hearing.

“Made me _think_ I’d die?”

Her face turns red and she retracts her hands, “I am not very good at hexes. My other half is better at them, I’m better at healing. The only thing I cursed you with is very unpleasant indigestion.” She turns from him, bashful.

He blinks. Indigestion. She…he doesn’t know if he’s angry at the deception, relieved that he was never in any danger, or endeared by her continuing inability to really do him any harm. It is a lot to process. She cursed him with indigestion, not death, she is not good at hexes but is good at healing.

“And I am going to remove it. You…should not be bound to come here if it is not what you wish.” She waves her hand and magic floats through the air, sinking into him, untying the hooks he felt when she initially cursed him. He wants to stop her, to tell her that he still wishes to come. But removing the spell does not bar him from returning, only that he need not fear the repercussions for not.

“Thank you, but I would still like to return if that is alright with you,” he says. Selene smiles up at him.

“You do? But I lied to you, deceived you into this -

“You were protecting yourself and I was never truly in danger. Are you not upset? I will be marrying someone else.” It seems too good to be true that she would not mind him marrying an Elethari princess. It is not like he loves the princess or desires her, it is Selene whom he loves and desires, but his brother’s words echo in his head. Falon’din has always been possessive, even as adults. They have not lived in the same place for hundreds of years, yet he continues to insist that Dirthamen is his and no one else’s.

But Selene just sighs and takes his hands, “I do not want you to marry someone you do not at least care for. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, but you are doing this for good reasons. Is it just political? Should I be concerned?”

Dirthamen shakes his head, “I do not even know their names yet.”

“As long as I know your affects lie with me…” Relief surges through Dirthamen as Selene leans against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“How do I assure you they do?” He asks and her grin turns wicked.

“I can think of a few things.”

**

It takes months to arrange a meeting with the Eletharan royal family. It is a much smaller family than Dirthamen’s own, only consisting of the queen and her two daughters. Mother could bring all of them if she wished, but it is only him that she takes on the first meeting. Not even Sylaise is invited.

They travel by ship, landing in Saz’risan only two weeks later. The city is unlike Arlathan in many ways. It is less built up on itself than it is sprawling with wide set streets lined with colorful trees. The buildings are short and stout with roofs that reach down to the street. Dirthamen spies guards even walking along the roofs to observe the populace from above. A large public building has a roof-top that is covered in grass and people lounge upon it like a park.

The people stare at them as the procession makes its way through the streets. He sits in a carriage with Mother, catching glimpses of the city through the windows.

“You are curious about the city,” Mother says.

“If I am to be spending time here, I should know it,” he responds. It is a beautiful city, so unlike the cities back home. There is a quietness he likes. On the voyage over, he read available books on Eletharan culture. Presenting a sense of peace and calm is expected and failing to do so is considered exceptionally rude. He is beginning to understand why Mother wanted him over his brother for this. She must have also done her reading and knew that Dirthamen would succeed in this arena. A rare event that he is preferred over his brother.

It takes over an hour to travel from the ship to the palace. The roads are long and the guards insist on taking their time in guiding them through the city. Their guides say nothing but Dirthamen feels this is a test. The wait does not bother him, however, it simply allows him to see more of the city in a languid manner. It suits him.

His mind drifts over the ride. It wanders to Selene and slides over the angles of her body. She had appeared sharp in their last meeting, all angles in the glowing lights. The only softness to be seen or felt in was her hair. She taught him much, showing him more spells and tricks to using his magic. With each meeting, he feels stronger and fuller than he has ever been. His skin feels stretched thin and at times he feels so tied to his body it feels wrong. He spends hours in front of the mirror, staring and trying to discern what is wrong. But he looks the same. Blue eyes and dark hair, pale skin, the same height.

But here, so far from Selene and the Tower, Dirthamen feels more right in his skin. He does not know if that is better, however.

“Do you remember what you are to do?” Mother asks when the palace comes into view.

“Greet the queen first, her eldest daughter, Serahlin, second, and Elvara, the youngest, last. Serahlin is the taller of the girls. It is polite to compliment hair styles.” The answers are rote. Notes taken from the books he has read as well as the bits Mother has told him.

Mother nods, “Serahlin is said to be the more pragmatic of the sisters. Elvara enjoys finery and compliments. Serahlin will be more difficult to sway.” That is to say, Elvara will be easier to control if they marry. Dirthamen has yet to make his decision on which sister he would rather marry, despite Mother’s prodding and nudging towards the younger sister. He has also read the reports, however, and he thinks he may find more in common with the elder sister. Or if not commonalities, at least a similar approach to this arrangement. Elvara is rumored to be fickle and dramatic, certainly less attractive personality traits as prescribed by her culture, but closer to his own. He read the reports on her and thought of Sylaise when she was younger and the association has left him uneasy over the idea of marrying her. Not that Mother knows. She would be too displeased.

They reach the palace with no fanfare. Instead they are helped out of the carriage and the serving people all kneel as they walk by. The guide leads them through the front garden. There are more colorful trees present, their flowers all in hues of pink and purple. They make their way up the stairs to the palace then into the large front room.

The grey stone tiles continue, though they are more polished inside. Large carved columns support the high ceilings. A group of women are waiting for them in the center of the room, looking far too similar to each other for them to be the queen and her daughters. These are attendants.

One of them strides forward. She inclines her head in greeting and Dirthamen mimics the gesture.

“Welcome to Saz’risan, Empress Mythal and Prince Dirthamen. Queen Felena the Earnest and her daughters, Princess Serahlin the Poised and Princess Elvara the Radiant, are eager to meet you.”

“The Empress and Prince are eager to meet their royal highness as well,” one of Mother’s attendants answers. The attendant smiles politely but makes no move to direct them to the royal family.

“You have had a long journey from Arlathan. Her Majesty is gracious to recognize such and has instructed us to take you to your quarters to allow you to recover from your arduous travel.” She holds out a hand and the attendants behind her mimic the gesture.

Mother is displeased, but she hides it well while the attendants guide them to their quarters on the second level of the palace. They are granted a suite of six rooms. Dirthamen and Mother are each granted a room, there is a sitting room between their rooms, as well as a front room and two additional rooms for their guards. Dirthamen’s room is nice, the bed is comfortable, and the balcony looks over the courtyard. Mother’s room is a mirror of his, walls decorated with a luminescent paper with designs of trees. The trees resemble those he has seen throughout the city and he wonders what their significance is.

Mother is not interested in the trees. Instead she comes into his room wanting to discuss strategy. He indulges her and allows her to plan for him how to go about the next day. Dinner is brought to them and Mother retires to her room soon after. He is grateful for the reprieve. The attendants were correct - the journey was long and tiring and he could use the rest.

The morning arrives too soon. His attendants wake and dress him. Breakfast is brought to them as well and it seems to bother Mother that they have now had two meals away from Felena and her daughters.

Mid-morning comes and so do the attendants from the previous day, dressed in much more finery.

“The Queen and Princesses will meet you in one hour,” the lead attendant says. Mother frowns but does not say anything as she quickly moves into her room, her attendants following her quickly. Dirthamen’s attendants take him into his room and begin to style him, likely at his mother’s direction. His hair is piled up onto his head, held up by bejeweled pins and a few ribbons. He is not familiar with the robes he is put into either, but they are at least familiar in color. They’re a dark blue and surprisingly comfortable.

The dressing is rushed. Normally dressing in the empire, especially in Arlathan, can take between an hour and three. It depends on the occasion. For something like this, dressing would take closer to the three hours - they have, at most, forty-five minutes.

He heads out of his room at the thirty minute mark. Mother emerges ten minutes later. Together they follow the attendants to the back of the of the palace and down a flight of stairs. Their final destination is a grand room with tall ceilings and a small, bubbling waterfall in the back of the room. The water from the waterfall flows around the room in a small moat. Dirthamen and Mythal are guided over a small bridge to sit at a long table.

They take their seats as what he presumes are Felena and her daughters enter the room. They are surrounded by attendants, moving slowly through the space before taking their seats at the table. Felena, or who he believes is Felena, takes the seat that is perfectly center to the waterfall behind her, while her daughters flank her.

“Empress Mythal,” Queen Felena says, “welcome to Saz’risan of Eletharan.”

“You are very generous to have us, Queen Felena.”

More pleasantries are exchanged just as Dirthamen expected of a first meeting. Mother and the Queen do most of the speaking. He inclines his head when he is introduced and answers questions when asked of him. Mostly about mundane things. As little as he speaks, Felena’s daughters speak less. One of the daughters, the one he suspects is the younger, seems disinterested in the entire proceeding. She sips her tea and looks frequently to the guards standing watch in the room. The other daughter, however, is exceptionally keen. She is attentive, even if she is silent.

_Princess Serahlin is a pragmatic sort. She is knowledgeable to the goings on of the kingdom and is instrumental to the cultural infrastructure. She is considered the lesser beauty of the daughters, but the more desirable._

Mother is speaking on the finer points of Elvhenan’s cities and people when the princess leans over and whispers something into her mother’s ear. After Mother finishes her point, Felena smiles and makes a gesture for the servants to tend to their table.

“Empress Mythal, would you care to join me in a more formal setting to discuss matters?” Felena offers and Mother nods, slowly rising with Felena.

“There are some matters best left unheard by children,” she says as if he is still a child. There is nothing to be done for it, however, as the queen and empress leave the room with a large contingent of guards and attendants. The shrewd princess rises and takes her sister’s arm.

“Elvara,” she says, her voice deeper and darker than what he expected. The distracted princess, Elvara as he suspected, looks to her sister and adopts an expression he has seen Sylaise wear more than once. But unlike Sylaise, she does not say anything as she rises with Serahlin.

“Your Highness, we have been offered access to the library,” one of his attendants whispers in his ear. Dirthamen rises from his seat, intrigued. He turns to see Serahlin and Elvara once more surrounded by guards and attendants, leaving the room. It seems that it will take time to simply speak with the women to make his determination.

He spends the rest of the day perusing the library. It is large and there are a surprising number of books he has not read. Some books he has not even heard of. He makes sure to catalogue everything to trade for it when he returns home.

The rest of the trip is calm. He spends time in the library when he is alone and there are frequent walks with the Eletharan royal family through the various gardens in and surrounding the palace.

Serahlin continues to catch his eye even if she only speaks sparingly. Elvara is usually preoccupied with who he suspects she is having an affair with in the guard. But Serahlin is…she is beautiful. Not like the beauty he sees in Selene, of course, and not nearly so captivating. He finds himself comparing her to Selene and it unsettles his stomach. Serahlin does not strike him as a bad person, if anything he think they may have several things in common.

She does not deserve this as much as Selene does. At least Selene knows what is happening. It is not like he can tell Serahlin, however, about Selene.

The trip comes to a successful conclusion a month later when mother returns to their rooms late in the evening.

“Congratulations are in order,” Mother tells him, “you are to wed Princess Serahlin of Eletharan, Queen Felena’s heir should anything unfortunate come to pass.”

**

The next several years are a whirlwind for Dirthamen. Eletharan has extensive traditions when it comes to marriage. First, Dirthamen and Serahlin must know and speak with each other consistently for a period of at least a year. The period of time is extended to account for the distance between them and all the other preparations. The wedding is going to be quite large. Public officials have public weddings in Eletharan which has become a point of contention with Dirthamen’s family. Father especially worries for security and is insisting on sending knights of his own to attend.

Since Serahlin is the Crown Princess, she is technically higher up in her family than Dirthamen is in his. If something were to happen to Mother and Father, Falon’din would become ruler. Though he suspects Sylaise would heavily debate that and Andruil would fight it.

He thinks of the quietness of Saz’risan and their palace, of Serahlin’s knowing gaze. He does not think he will dislike living in Eletharan, if only it were not so far from Selene.

Even with the chaos of wedding planning and diplomacy, he manages to travel to the Glass Tower at least once every two months. And his stays are not short. In the forest, high in a magical tower with a dragoness wrapped around him, Dirthamen feels himself become centered and whole.

It is exhausting to be managing everything. It is only in the Tower with Selene that he feels himself relax. He cannot imagine not seeing her after he marries Serahlin. There needs to be a solution that is not just seeing her once a year when he can leave Saz’risan. Now it only takes a couple days of travel to be at the Tower, but once he crosses the Mountains, that will change. Selene cannot relocate from the Tower either.

Each day brings the wedding day closer. Each day is one day less he has with Selene.

Three months to the wedding and Dirthamen has not managed to come up with a satisfactory solution. Unless Serahlin is amenable to moving away from Saz’risan. Though the multitude of letters they have exchanged, he has learned that she is well integrated into Saz’risan. It is where her life is. Taking that away from her feels wrong. But abandoning Selene feels wrong as well.

He has not slept much.

Dirthamen has been able to convince his family to travel through the forest to Saz’risan rather than by boat from Arlathan. There is a pass through the wood and while he will not be able to sneak off to the Glass Tower on this excursion, simply being in the forest is comforting.

But when his brother arrives to travel with everyone, Dirthamen nearly reneges on this plan. Falon’din is an accomplished dragon hunter and Dirthamen is one of the few people who know the truths of his hunts. The stories are largely exaggerated for his brother’s ego but that does not make the truth any less terrifying. He should not ever be close to Selene. It is too late to change the plan. He hopes that Selene will stay away.

Four days pass and the party is in the shadow of the mountains. Dirthamen’s cartographers are charting the best path to take through the mountains. He is eager to get Falon’din as far away from the Glass Tower as possible.

The cartographers have twenty four hours to decide the best course of action for travelling through the mountains is. At the end of the day, they will leave, putting even more distance between them and the Tower.

Dirthamen is reviewing an initial plan of travel in his tent when the flap opens. It is late, most everyone has already retired for the night. He is only up because he cannot sleep. The magic in the air still tickles at his skin, making him think of the Tower and his last meeting with Selene. All those thoughts leave him when his brother walks inside the tent.

“Brother, I thought you had retired for the night,” he says, setting the maps aside.

Falon’din narrows his eyes, “You would like that wouldn’t you?”

Dirthamen knows that tone. He swallows.

“Rest is important for long journeys.”

“Not because you do not want to see me?” Before Dirthamen can react, Falon’din is there, grabbing his hair, yanking back. He flinches in pain and his heart speeds up. He should have known this was coming.

“You are my brother -

“Exactly! You are mine!” He shouts, throwing Dirthamen to the ground.

“You couldn’t wait to get away from me, could you? Off to marry that bitch as soon as you can? And you didn’t even try to bring her here!”

Rationality does not work with Falon’din, Dirthamen knows this. When he gets into these moods…it is best to weather them. He will shout, hit him some, then leave to likely inflict his wrath upon others.

“I will always be your brother.”

“She is taking you from me!” First come the fists. Dirthamen brings his arms up to protect his head but that does nothing. Falon’din is bigger, stronger from all his training. His fists crash against Dirthamen, breaking his nose, cheek, splattering blood over the ground.

“And now I had to hear from one of your bitches that you have been making secret trips to the forest? What are you doing? Are you meeting her? YOU ARE MINE!” Even if Dirthamen was inclined to answer, the pewter pitcher Falon’din brings down makes him unable to.

The world spins and he only distantly feels Falon’din’s kicks. His arm breaks, his ribs.

My brother is going to kill me? Fear coils in Dirthamen and a deeper sense of breaking fills him, more painful and filling him with panic than the broken bones. Like his skin is coming apart and his innards are going to spill from him. His skin crawls and he needs to get away.

When Falon’din’s foot drives into Dirthamen’s stomach for the fifth time, he feels the crack grow deep and he cries out in pain. His palm opens and without thinking blasts Falon’din back through the tent. He screams as his back arches and his bones realign. No, no, he cannot let whatever is happening happen. They will know, they will all know. They will kill her. No, no, no.

_But you will die._

A voice that sounds like his own but is not echoes in mind. What is happening? He does not know and the fear runs deeper. His bones break, lengthen, his skin shifts and blood flows like rivers from him. He rears back, stumbling confused and dazed to his feet out of the tent and into the camp.

People are beginning to rouse. They cannot see him like this. He does not know what he looks like, but he knows he cannot…he has to go. He has to run.

Not giving it a second thought, Dirthamen takes off into the forest. He runs for the Tower. He does not know what is happening to him, but it is magical. It has to be. To blast Falon’din like that, to feel like this.

_They will not find me there._

That voice again! Same but different. What is this?

He cannot see in the dark and the forest is treacherous like this. His foot, longer than how he remembers it, or it should be, catches on a root. He falls to the ground, tumbling, hearing a sickening crunch before he feels the excruciating pain from his leg.

A scream that does not sound elven tears from him. He will not make it to the Tower, he realizes. His wounds are too grave, he is immobile, and he strongly suspect that he represents something of a monster.

He bring his hand that is not attached to the broken arm to his face, feeling strange talons against his skin. What has he become? What has happened to him?

The world around him vibrates and a familiar purple magic lights up the ground next to him. Far more familiar and larger talons gently wrap around him and he is lifted into the air.

“Selene?” He murmurs before the blood loss and pain are too much and he succumbs to unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


	10. A Monster Came to the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vena, Dirthamen, Andruil, Falon’din (mention), and others belong to Feynite.
> 
> Ana belongs to lycheepit
> 
> Selene and Des belong to SeleneLavellan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3

Vena’s gotten used to this whole forest living thing. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. It’s actually pretty amazing. There are zero expectations of him outside of don’t be an asshole. And he can manage that just fine. There is no long code or pressure to be fashionable or anything. It’s just him and Ana and the woods and all the living creatures around them.

Ana shows him the forest, teaching him about the animals and plants. She brings him a long tunic and breeches that he can wear instead of the heavy, ineffectual armor he had been ceremoniously stabbed in. At night, when it’s colder, Ana draws up a small circle and casts a spell. It produces a bubble of warmth that feels very much like a blanket. It allows him to sleep though he does miss actual blankets.

After two weeks of living in the tree with Ana, he starts wondering how hard it would be to build a structure for him to live in. He brings it up to Ana who is reluctant at first because elves just “kill trees for themselves” but they eventually come to a compromise. He only uses dead trees and branches, and while that means it takes longer to finish it, it turns out well. The hut is small but it is big enough for a bed that he also builds from dead branches, and the feathers of dead birds. That had been much less fun to deal with. There are also pelts of animals, which Ana lets him hunt. He needs to eat, after all.

The hut is set up in the shadow of Ana’s willow tree. Vena finds he quite likes waking up to see his favorite tree lady hanging out on a branch. Sometimes he wakes up to find a long branch in the window he put in, with an Ana covered in flowers and vines watching him sleep.

“Vena,” she says in a low whisper. Vena blinks his eyes open slowly then rolls to his side.

“‘S too early,” he moans, tucking his face into his pillow.

“There are people,” she says. That wakes him up. Vena sits up in bed and blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“People?”

“They are dressed like you were but different too,” she sounds more excited than he thinks is a good idea. People dressed like him? Has Sylaise found him? Exactly how would she be able to do that? He hasn’t done anything to indicate to any other people like him that he’s even alive.

“Show me,” he says, rolling out of bed. He pulls on his clothes and follows Ana out of the hut. Together they head east toward the river. They do not need to travel far until Vena starts noticing key signs of travel. Ana guides him up into a tree and they look down at the camp from there.

Well, it’s not Sylaise.

It’s her sister, Andruil. He cannot tell if he is relieved or even more worried.

Both? Probably both.

He takes Ana’s hand and they head back to the hut.

“Do not seek them out, promise me you will not seek them out,” he says, his voice low and serious.

“Why?”

“They are dangerous. While I am a friendly outlier of my people, the rest are not so much - and those people in particular are not.”

She blinks her great big green eyes at him but she nods, “I will stay away from the Andruil and people.”

He exhales in a surprising amount of relief, “Good, good.”

**

Serahlin is stuck.

She cannot go home, but she feels no desire to remain in the woods with a dragon so close by. Even if that dragon is Adannar. Even if she cares - cared for Adannar.

Her heart aches in betrayal. He lied to her, made her believe she was safe in this forest all the while he is the greatest monster of all. An actual dragon. Just like the beasts who had burned down large swaths of her country and terrorized her people. He is a beast who would burn her country and people if given half the chance.

Maybe that’s why he was so…the way he was with her. It was to get her comfortable so she would reveal secrets about her people so he could be better at hurting them.

That particular thought is horrifically distressing. Serahlin falls to the floor in the cottage, just like she had all those months ago. She is a different person, she feels, but the same things keep happening. Betrayal, love that isn’t love. The tears fall down her face against her will, her shoulders shaking as the emotion slams through her.

Mamae did not love her. Not the way parents should love their children anyways, and not like she loves Elvara. Dirthamen did not love her, and she held no qualms over that except she knew he loved another. She told herself it didn’t bother her, that their impending marriage was political and that love was not expected. He was free to love others. Another. But it still hurt, against everything she told herself, it hurt. He did not even try to talk to her about it, he hid it, making it all the worse.

Somehow, with all that she has been through, this hurts the worst of all. Adannar has been there, comforting her, she told him her thoughts and feelings. She laid herself bare and he gave her lies and deception.

She is sick to death of being used. Like all she is good for is being a stepping stone to power. She’s…she’s a person but damn it all if she isn’t treated as such.

Her sobs last a long time. Exhaustion, heartbreak, and betrayal mingle into a potent cocktail that rends her useless for the rest of the day. When her body finally demands food and water, she nibbles on some of the stores Adannar helped her gather. She tries not to dwell on how she got the food and instead on defeating the pangs in her stomach.

She can’t go home, but she doesn’t want to stay here either. She could…try going somewhere else? There is the rumored Outcast Island, but it is full of miscreants and pirates and there is rumor of a monster more terrifying than any dragon on the mainland. She could try adopting a new identity, cut off all her beautiful hair, maybe dye it…blonde? She doesn’t think she would look good as a blonde though. It’s also very likely she would just be caught and then executed.

Serahlin lies awake in bed, contemplating all the various ways she could leave this cottage. Nothing seems like it will work.

She is truly stuck.

The next day, Adannar does not come. She half expects him to show up and abduct her properly, but days pass and he does not. She does not hear so much as a rumble from the forest.

She tries to not feel anything like disappointment.

She gardens, makes her food, occasionally hunts and manages to snag a hare. She stitches holes in her clothes and tries not to pay too much attention to how lonely she is. Despite him being a lying monster, she…misses Adannar.

No, she misses what she thought he was - kind, nurturing, happy, supportive, and just good. But he can’t be any of those things, not truly. He is a dragon. The same as the beasts who have terrorized her people.

He is the same, even if it is difficult for her to imagine him flying over the fields, burning them and the people in them to ash. He. Is. The. Same. He knew how she felt and he kept the truth from her.

But…there is a part of her that wonders if the reason he did not tell her the truth was because he was afraid of her reaction. He knew she feared dragons, hated them even. Is it possible that he really did grow close to her? That he felt the way she wanted him to feel, like she thought he felt, and that the only reason he lied was because he was afraid?

The thought stays with her for the next several days. By the end of the week, she begrudgingly admits that it is possible. In all the time she saw him, he was never aggressive or angry. He was happy and full of joy, he showed her beautiful things and made her feel like a better version of herself. He brought out her happiness and joy. Even if he was lying, he did all those good things. When he kissed her, she felt the world in bloom. Her body swelled with joy and love, she opened up to him and let herself feel everything.

If, and it is a very big if, if Adannar was lying to her out of fear of her reaction…then she just proved him right. His lie then becomes understandable, wrong, but…understandable.

What complicates things further is that when given the opportunity to take her prisoner, Adannar let her go. He let her go and he has demanded nothing since.

These thoughts keep her up at night. They infiltrate her mind and heart. They make her ache for him, for what they had. They make her ask -

Was she wrong to run?

Is she wrong about dragons?

She doesn’t know. What she does know is that she misses Adannar. She misses him all day and all night. She misses him while she gardens and when she goes out into the forest to forage.

The heat and humidity of the summer makes her stand and take frequent breaks in her foraging. It similarly keeps her close to the small stream where she does most of her fishing. Serahlin is on the bank of the stream when she hears hoofbeats. They are not the hoofbeats of deer or even Adannar’s mechanical creatures. No, Serahlin recognizes these hoofbeats as the regular sounds of a procession of horses. Shadows move on the other side of the stream and a rush of fear surges through her.

Serahlin ducks into the brush, hiding in the shadows like she has learned from Adannar. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she tries her best to follow the procession while remaining hidden. She knows the wood better than these people, at least this area of the wood.

She sneaks around a bend and maneuvers herself next to a tree that she happens to know is possessed by a spirit of Silence. She rubs its bark and it shrouds her in shadow, allowing her to watch while hidden.

The group comes into view, bedecked in armor and various armaments. Large armaments, the kind of weapons that are designed to take down exceptionally large prey. The breath leaves Serahlin’s body as one of the riders, the main rider, comes into view. Andruil, Princess and greatest hunter of Elvhenan, second to none. She is only shadowed by the brutality of her brother, Falon’din, and even then…it is not by much. While Falon’din has specialized in dragon hunting, Andruil has prided herself on being able to hunt anything and everything - and she has succeeded, time and time again. She has brought down her fair share of dragons, and she is spectacular at it.

A nasty fear claws its way through Serahlin. Andruil is hunting Adannar. All at once Serahlin has a violent rejection of the idea that Adannar deserves to be hunted. Despite being a dragon, despite being the monster she has been told is evil her entire life, at the heart of it, Adannar has done nothing to deserve being hunted. No dragons who have terrorized her people fit his description and he has been consistently good to her.

Serahlin’s mind is made up in a matter of seconds and it sends regret and fear in equal measures through her. She has to warn him, she has to get to him before Andruil and her cronies.

She slips back through the woods and to the cottage. She hops onto Velini and urges him at a quick pace back towards Adannar’s cave. She will warn him and ask for his forgiveness. Maybe, just maybe, she isn’t so stuck.

**

Adannar feels listless. He cannot sleep, but he cannot do the things he once enjoyed. A thick melancholy fills him and his home. He cries through his heartbreak and halfway enters the dreaming, wrapping himself in memories of their time together.

In the memories, he feels her love, or at least he does not feel her ire. He dreams of her lips against his and her smile when he saw her first thing in the morning.

It is dangerous for a dragon to become so enamored with memories and the Dreaming. He knows he can fall into a slumber of which he will never wake. That knowledge is the only thing that makes him wake periodically to eat and tend to the home. His creatures whine at him, they all need maintenance. He needs to do that, needs to oil their hinges, work in more magic so that they do not become…so that they do not die.

If he can just find the energy.

Adannar manages to find some energy to tune Huirin up on the fifth day. He is oiling Huirin’s upper neck hinge when the structure of his home shakes from what he guesses is a crash against the atrium ceiling. Wards break and sound off in cacophonous alarm. Huirin whines in nervousness and Adannar snaps to attention. It has been a long time, a _long_ time, since he has had to defend his home from invaders, but he will take up the front if he must. He doesn’t know how good he is at it anymore, and he was never very good at it to begin with - but he will fight. He may be heartbroken but he has no interest in dying.

Adannar pulls the magical energies of the home to him, shrouding and shielding himself in an armor-like barrier. He deepens his breathing, directing the heat into his belly as he climbs up and takes a long drink of water from a water flow he keeps for this precise reason.

The atrium’s ceiling is broken when he arrives and he casts a light spell to illuminate the dark space.

“Show yourself! I have done no harm and if you would -

“Adannar!” A familiar shouts just before a large, long body barrels into him.

“OOF!” He shouts, his barrier protecting him from any damage, but the size of the dragon still makes him fall over into a tangle of limbs.

“Des! What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be far, far away!” He admonishes without any real bite behind it. Des coils his body around Adannar, all warm and snuggly. Dragons need physical reassurance, it creates bonds, maintains relationships - even if those relationships are simply platonic. Touch starvation is a severe concern for many of them now that they are so scattered, hiding in isolation trying to survive and not draw too much attention to them.

Des shoves his head up by Adannar’s and sighs as they come to a halt, “I have never been good at staying away, you know that.”

“I’m serious! You’re on the same continent as Selene!” Adannar whines all the while folding his wings around Des’s body. The barrier disappears and Des sighs.

“I know, and believe it or not I would not have come if Selene wasn’t in trouble.”

Adannar goes stock still.

“What?”

“I cannot be certain what is wrong but something is wrong. She is…there is something. I couldn’t just sit in the Obelisk and wait for wrong to turn into something even worse!” Des bemoans. He does not relax his body even as Adannar can tell the contact is helping ease something in him. No, he will not be relaxed or calm until he knows his other half is safe. But he cannot go see for himself, cannot go and help Selene himself because if he does, he will only make them a shiny target for the knights.

Adannar exhales a warm plume of humid air down Des’s back. It’s not Selene’s purple fire, but it is heat and it helps ease Des a little bit.

“I will go see her,” Adannar says softly. Des lifts his head, big gold eyes blinking in surprised relief.

“Thank you.”

“In order for me to do that, I will need you to move…”

“Oh, yes.” Des uncoils himself from around Adannar’s body, returning his normal stature. He is longer than Adannar, and his horns are taller, but Adannar is bulkier and broader. Adannar is not the largest dragon, but he is big enough that he has on occasion moved other dragons.

“What does it feel like? Is she hurt or is it something else?” They used to all be together, not together but friends. Selene helped Adannar with his calculations when he first began making his creations, before that he was simply a smith, a crafter. In turn, he was there as she became a stronger healer. It was an exciting time, and Des made everything fun - sometimes too fun, but now Adannar misses it. He misses his friends.

Des’s body shivers as he taps into the connection to Selene so much that Adannar swears he can almost feel it in the air.

“If she is hurt, it is not like she has been before,” he says and Adannar nods. It’s not much, but he can make it work. He goes back into his lair with Des on his heels, gathering some basic healing supplies. A focusing hunk of crystal, a sack of elfroot, and a pain reliever potion. Not that Selene doesn’t already have all of these things at the Glass Tower, but Adannar likes to be prepared.

“Hold the lair while I am gone and if…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to tell Des to keep the hope that Serahlin will return. The time is too short to give him the details, but he seems to sniff out the potential gossip nevertheless.

“If…?” Des says, voice full of lascivious curiosity.

Adannar sighs, “If a woman by the name of Serahlin comes by…just…she is my guest, treat her as such.”

“Oh there is a story here, I can feel it.”

“I can tell you the story or save Selene.”

“You are no fun!” Des protests without any real seriousness, “I expect the story when you get back!” He calls as Adannar turns, flying down the passage into the atrium. He flies through the hole Des created before reactivating the wards. He will have to repair the glass later - his friend needs him more.

Adannar takes to the sky and tries to let the air rushing by him clear his head. He tries to let it purify the magic in his body and soul. He will need to be unanchored to heal Selene, particularly if the hurt is unlike anything Des has ever felt. He knows physical hurt, he knows anguish and grief and heartbreak. He knows the throes of depression and languid sorrow, a longing so deep it rends her immoveable.

What kind of hurt does Des not know of his other half? What soul wounding thing must it be? Adannar fears she has weakened the bond in some fashion and that perhaps she is fading from this world and into the Dreaming, not unlike how he has been tempted.

Adannar rises high into the sky, into the clouds that cling to his scales and magic in a familiar embrace of water based magic. His wings beat hard and the clouds form around him like a fog. There were stories once of how dragons could influence the weather, bring rains or take them away at a whim. He was never a fan of those stories, even if they rang a little true. They are not gods, but they are part of nature and the magic that is latent in this world clings to them - it reacts to their being. The most Adannar has ever succeeded in changing is bringing a fog with his arrival, and as far as he is aware, Selene and Des have never changed the weather.

It takes several hours before he spies the great Glass Tower, rising from the canopy of trees. It is a glittering beacon, once beckoning in dragons and spirits alike. Now it is full of sad memories and a stubborn dragon who insists on keeping those memories. He loves Selene, he does, but he wishes she would be kinder to herself - for all of her devotion, he feels like she lacks a certain devotion to herself. When Des had to leave for their safety, Adannar had promised to watch over her as best he could. He admits, he has neglected that somewhat recently. His own melancholy has been so strong, and then there was Serahlin. Oh Serahlin.

He should not have ignored his dear friend.

Adannar lands against the side of the Tower, long talons securing himself against the familiar enchanted stones. He maneuvers himself down the side until he comes to a window. He waves his tail and the wards snap into recognition. The purple barrier turns a welcoming white and he enters the Tower, folding his wings tightly against his body. This place was never built for a dragon of his size, and normally he would shift into a smaller form, but he has lost weight, making it so that he fits - though just barely.

The Tower is alight with magic, more than usual. It is as if it is reacting to something being returned to it, which is strange. The Tower has lost much, the majority of its spirits and researchers, even magical artifacts are no longer present. But these things that have been lost are not easily restored - returning a shard of a spirit that had grown here would not restore the Tower like this. Magical artifacts similarly would not have this effect. Yet the magic is strong, not quite lively, but present in a way that he has not seen in quite some time.

This is not the home of a dragon who has succumbed to the Dreaming.

His nose flares and he tries to sniff her out. She is on a lower level, in the healing quarters. While he fit onto the level, he must shift to descend the spiral staircase - his draconic form is simply not flexible enough. It is a quick shift into his elven form before he hastens down the stairs and into the healing quarters. He thrusts the doors open to find a very much alive and awake Selene crouched over…something. A low rumbling growl emanates from her and he tilts his head in response.

“Selene? What is going on? Why are you growling at me? What are you guarding?” He asks. Her green eyes blink and her form relaxes from its guarding pose.

“Adannar! Thank goodness you’re here, you can help!” She beckons him closer. Confused but curious, Adannar acquiesces to her request, approaching what she is so vehemently guarding. She moves off her object of protection and Adannar sucks in a breath.

An elven man, he thinks, but warped - a possession gone wrong. Elongated legs with talons on the feet and on the hand, feathers encroaching upon his face, two pairs of eyes rather than the one.

“I have done everything I can think of, but he’s not getting better. Adannar, I…I don’t know what to do,” Selene says, her sorrow thick in her voice.

It is then Adannar realizes what Des was feeling - Selene’s fear of losing this man that she has bonded herself to somehow. Not somehow, not really, she is such an affectionate person who is prone to getting attached. Not that he blames her, he shares this trait with her.

He nods and sets his things down before holding his hands over the man, “What is his name?”

Selene’s wings flutter in nervousness before she speaks, “Dirthamen.”

“Dirthamen wasn’t a bad man, simply…uninterested in me,” Serahlin says, head tucked against Adannar’s chest.

“I find that difficult to believe,” he tells her, hand running through her hair.

“The heart wants what it wants, and it is cold to anything else,” she murmurs. His heart aches for her and vows to himself to make her feel wanted and loved for as long she will allow him.

The memory flashes in Adannar’s head. He gazes down at the man’s face and frowns. Well, he supposes he has found the lost prince, the cause for Serahlin having to run away. He does not know whether he should be angry with him or grateful. Perhaps both? Perhaps neither, sometimes fate is simply tricky like that.

“Dirthamen,” Adannar says, summoning the magic in the air to use him as a conduit as he begins to magically assess the damage. Selene has done everything she can for the physical, but Adannar suspects that this is something much different. As talented healer as she is, he has become quite the soul smith.

He uses the focusing crystal to hone his magic into a space that is partway between the Dreaming and the Waking that is unique to Dirthamen. Adannar calls it the soul space, where the spirit resides and where possessions go wrong. It takes exceptional effort to enter the soul space, the focus and precision spellwork is taxing and each soul space is different. It is like constructing a key by pouring molten metal into the lock then trying to unlock the door before the key is formed.

Once he manipulates his magic just so, there is a whoosh of magic and he is in the soul space. Darkness surrounds him for a moment before brilliant lights burst, doting the space around him like a night sky full of stars. He stands on a pillar and before him stretches an infinite expanse of darkness dotted with stars that pushes and pulls with a central light overhead - a moon framed by soft purple flames, a manifestation of the bond between him and Selene.

He turns slowly on his pillar, careful to not disturb anything. A disturbance could be disastrous in Dirthamen’s current state. In the distance he sees a swirling mass turning in on itself. He reaches up and imagines himself closer to the mass. All around him turns so that he is before the giant mass.

The mass that is really three souls all trying to escape and attach to each other at the same time. Adannar reaches up and lets himself get a read of all the souls present. He latches onto one in shocked recognition.

Longing? He whispers. The soul stirs in confused recognition, it buzzes and moves, dragging the other two with it. It whines in pain, the pieces from the other two, born from Longing, but different, no longer fitting correctly.

Adannar retracts his hand and himself from the soul seeing.

“Selene,” he says, keeping his voice measured. The news he has for her is…good, he thinks, ultimately good, but distressing nonetheless.

“What is it? What’s wrong? What can I do?”

“There are three souls that are being housed incorrectly inside Dirthamen. One of them is Dirthamen, but the other two are incorrectly trying to merge with Dirthamen. I suspect they were created from Dirthamen and have since tried to incorrectly merge with him once more. It is creating a magical imbalance and a parasitic bond, which is why his physical state is so…altered.” First, he thinks, he should fix the issues, then tell her. Yes, that will work.

“Oh, oh no…how…how do we get them out?”

Adannar contemplates for a long moment, going over everything he has at his disposal in his head. The spirits need bodies, but they are too new and weak to take on bodies by themselves. They cannot exist without bodies at this point, too tied to Dirthamen. They need bodies, which Adannar can make, but they don’t have that kind of time. If only he had a couple of bodies…wait.

“Do you remember the sentinels I gave you all those years ago?” He asks. She blinks then nods.

“The ravens? Yes, though they stopped working after awhile. I’m sorry, I should have brought them to you to be repaired.”

He waves her off, “It worked out well. The two spirits are too weak to take their own bodies or to be totally separate. I need to untangle them from Dirthamen, but I need to create an anchor for each of them…like moons to his planet. To do that, I need bodies - bring them to me, please?” He doesn’t even finish his sentence before Selene is flying out of the room and to where she has the sentinels stored.

While she is busy gathering what will become the bodies for the spirits, Adannar returns to the soul space to discern what spirits he is dealing with. His magic is strong but gentle and examining spirits like this is not unlike handling snake eggs. They are so infinitely fragile, prone to breaking and becoming malformed. Still, he examines them as best he can. The first spirit is easy enough to decipher - Deceit, a surprisingly bold fellow that takes a position between Adannar and the other spirit.

I am no threat. I am here to help. He tells them. Deceit is cautious, though, and Adannar can understand that. He is a great big unknown, his magic is strong and they are very vulnerable. Still, Adannar will need their cooperation for this to go smoothly.

I am going to give you and your friend bodies, you will still be anchored to Longing, but you cannot remain like this. I am a friend of Selene’s, I speak no lie to you.

If Deceit had eyes, Adannar is sure they would narrow them at him. He allows them to examine him and his soul in turn, knowing they will not dislodge from Longing, not while they cling so tightly.

See? I mean no harm.

He reaches a tendril of magic down to them and slowly begins to undo the binding it has created to attach to Longing. It quivers but grows in strength as he works. When he has the last piece surrounded by his magic, he dislodges it only to quickly revert it and create a gravitational pull between Longing and Deceit. Slowly, Adannar creates a pathway with his magic from Longing’s soul space to Adannar’s magical holding and then into the body of one of the sentinels Selene has laid beside him.

“Shard!” He asks quickly as he settles Deceit into the body. Selene provides a shard of a spirit, surprising alike to Deceit and he uses it to secure Deceit into its new home. One spirit down, one to go.

He returns to the soul space and searches for the other spirit. He finds it cowering behind Longing, so tightly wound and pulsating irregularly. Oh the poor thing, a terrified little spirit of Fear. It has lost its protector of Deceit and now clings resolutely to Longing.

Shhh, I have you, I won’t hurt you. I am here to help. He soothes as best he can as he surrounds Fear and Longing with his magic, slowly undoing the attachment. Fear cries in protest and even zaps Adannar. He would like cooperation but Fear will not give it. This…this will result in some sort of trauma, he fears, but sometimes a bone must be broken to be set properly.

Dammit.

He forcefully unhooks Fear from Longing, quickly reworking the connection before pulling in Fear. It resists the entire way, making Adannar expand more energy to keep it from accidentally shattering itself. At least this time Selene is anticipating his move and provides another shard, from the same spirit, good, to help anchor Fear into its new home. Once he is certain Fear is hooked into the sentinel, he returns to Longing. Or Dirthamen, rather.

There are remnants of having Fear and Deceit so improperly set within him, but with some gentle healing and urging, he manages to guide Dirthamen back into a healthy form. What is strange, however, is that he gets the sense that his body will not quite revert like Adannar expects.

What is wrong?

I…do not know. Or perhaps I cannot tell? Dirthamen replies.

Your form is not elven. Adannar says, only to be met with surprise.

It is not?

Interesting.

Do not worry about it, we can address it after you have rested. Adannar casts a mild sleep aid to encourage proper healing. Dirthamen goes willingly enough, allowing Adannar to retract himself.

He falls back to the cool tile of the healing room, panting and sweating, his energy sapped from him. This is not unlike birth, he imagines. The fatigue and strain that permeates every part of his body. His skin is hot and his head feels heavy with the exhaustion, but he turns his head anyways.

The sentinels, great mechanical ravens much larger than the standard raven, are moving. They are fluttering wings and moving little legs. Adannar recognizes Deceit in the first one, its eyes glowing with life, brighter than Fear’s who is still resisting movement. Deceit, however, is moving quite well. It picks itself up and turns to Fear. It makes a mechanical caw that seems to surprise itself before letting out another caw. Then another.

“Oh, look at them,” Selene breathes in awe. He hopes Des feels her relief.

“Selene?” He says, voice soft and weak.

“Yes, my friend?”

“Help me into a bed?”

“Oh yes!” She lifts him up and puts him into a large nest of pillows and blankets. He will shift in his sleep, they both know. His last thought is of Longing, poor Longing, thought to be shattered in the siege of the Glass Tower, only to turn up now - improperly possessed. It’s sad, Adannar thinks, that such a spirit, on the track to becoming a dragon in his own right, to turn up like this. At least…at least he is safe now.

**

Serahlin keeps looking over her shoulder, afraid she will see Andruil on her heels.

She urges Velini to move more quickly through the wood. It’s a bit of a struggle to remember the path Huirin took, but she remembers landmarks well and she knows the general path better than Andruil at least. Or…at least Serahlin hopes she does.

Despite knowing the way and moving as fast as she dare, it still takes several hours before she reaches the cave leading into the lair. She hops off of Velini and hitches him to a nearby tree, making sure he has plenty to graze. She turns from her horse and hurries into the lair, doing her best to ignore how rapidly her heart is beating.

Adannar is…he doesn’t deserve to be killed by Andruil. At least she hope he doesn’t, if he does, she is going to be very cross with him. She darts into the cave and heads quickly down the stairs and into the lair proper, past all the rooms and piles of treasure. Should she call for him? Let him know she’s here? Will he…will he even forgive her for running? Surely he can understand her position, all the thoughts she has grown up with about dragons…it’s not an easy thing to throw away so quickly.

Yet she is here, isn’t she? Not so long after she ran. She wants to talk to him more than anything, she thinks. She wants to know his side of things, better than what he said before because she wasn’t listening before, she hadn’t been ready to listen. Now that she is ready, she can’t lose him.

She finds the room he was sleeping in last time, dark and empty. Fine, she can…find him elsewhere. She moves deeper into the lair, it dips down with a large staircase. What use does a dragon have of a staircase? But the space is wide and tall with large landings that if she looks at an angle, form a staircase large enough for a dragon. In between the landings are steps suited for people Serahlin’s size. She steps down the stone stairs, marveling at the beautiful work that has gone into them. The railing is etched with fine detail, gilded with gold and silver. Out of all the palaces she has walked, never has she seen something so fine and beautiful. It fits with Adannar, she thinks - beautiful and lovely but so unlike all the beauty she has seen before.

“Adannar?” She calls, her voice echoing through the space. She descends the staircase and walks across the tiled floor, with naught an answer to guide her. There is a great set of doors on the opposite end from the staircase. Inexplicably drawn to it, Serahlin moves to it. She creaks open a door and slips inside.

A myriad of colors and brilliant plants great her in a riot of breathtaking beauty. Above is a domed ceiling made of stained glass that filters in gold, red, green, and blue light. The only blemish is a large hole in the glass on the far side, jagged edges catching the light in a cut pattern. The atrium is filled with plants, so many of which are unknown to her. It is a garden, she realizes, an atrium meets greenhouse.

What wondrous things Adannar makes, she thinks not for the first time. How can someone who makes such wonderful things be bad? If dragons can make these things then why would they ever attack elven cities and settlements? The knights have always deemed that the dragons lusted for what the elves could make, they thirsted for power and sought to steal it from the elves. But standing in the atrium, surrounded by wondrous beauty and power, Serahlin wonders how many lies the knights have spread about dragons. She already knows they are given to lies when it comes to politics, perhaps…perhaps it was all a lie.

“Adannar?” She calls again. This time a shadow rises from the end of the atrium and it circles around the space until it seems to surround her and fill the space. Large gold glowing eyes open in the shadows and an array of teeth are suddenly sneering at her.

This…this is not Adannar.

“What is your name?” The shadow demands in a low menacing voice. Serahlin closes her eyes and resists every impulse in her body to run in fear. No, she has a duty here. She came here for a reason and she will not be denied.

“I am Serahlin - who are you? Where is Adannar?” If her voice shakes a little, it is her prerogative, she has only recently gotten over her lover being a dragon after all.

All at once, the shadows recede and reveal another dragon, with long spiraling horns and a similarly long body. His wings are feathered and move, shuffling away the shadows as he takes on what she hopes is a more friendly stance. His lips pull into what she thinks is the dragon equivalent of a smile, or perhaps a smirk.

“Ah Serahlin, Adannar told me to keep an eye out for you. To answer your question, I am Des. And Adannar is currently away assisting me with an issue. Now tell me, what exactly is your relationship with my dear friend, hmm? You are a lovely little thing, aren’t you.” He folds his wings against his body and leans towards her, surprisingly without any menace but curiosity. Serahlin leans back and tries not to scowl. She gets the distinct feeling like if he were an elf, she would be resisting the urge to slap him. Perhaps at the palace one of her guards would.

“That is a private matter,” she says before remembering why she is here, “and there is something more pressing to discuss. There is a hunting part in the woods headed by Andruil herself. You need to get somewhere safe, is there a, a, bunker here? Or perhaps impenetrable wards? She is a relentless and renowned hunter, she has killed dragons before. If you are a friend to Adannar then I doubt you deserve such a fate, and wherever he is, he needs to be somewhere safe. Do you understand?” She stands tall, chin raised with a firm determination to make this…this giant lizard listen to her. Yes, he is just a giant lizard, that’s all he is.

The giant lizard raises a scaly brow at her, “That was quite the mouthful,” he says with entirely too much behind it.

“You came here to warn Adannar about imminent danger? My, what are you two?”

“Must I repeat myself? It is a private matter but if you do not want to heed the warning then that is your decision.” She crosses her arms and adopts an expression she learned while she was still a princess - no nonsense and stubborn. The big lizard sighs dramatically.

“Fine, it’s private. And Andruil, you say? This place is more secure than you think, you just stay here while I activate the wards and defenses.” He leans up and flies out of the atrium. Serahlin does not let her face change until she is sure he is gone. Once assured she will not be seen, she slumps against the wall, resting her hand atop her chest.

She hopes she does not regret this.

While the lizard goes and activates the wards, Serahlin can find armor, arms. She is not the most proficient with them, but she knows some things. Enough to wave a sword around and look menacing. The trick now is finding arms and armor. There has to be something around here in the piles upon piles of stuff.

She heads out of the atrium and back into the lair proper. A rumbling noise begins to echo through the cave and slowly a whirr fills the halls along with a static magic. Holes open in the walls and small mechanical creatures resembling falcons and other small birds of prey fly out of them, alight with what must be defensive magic.

The swarm grows and grows until she is pushed into a room filled with crates and satchels. Serahlin begins to go through them, looking for anything that will help. She opens a crate to find the most beautiful iridescent fabrics in blues, greens, yellows - so many colors. She pulls out one length to find that it is a robe and that this crate does not contain multiple robes but an entire outfit meant to be layered to create a stunning effect. She is coming back for this.

She goes through a few more crates and finds some embossed leather armor that she dons as well as she can without assistance. Bracers, shin guards, even a cuirass that she manages to pull on over her head and secure around her chest.

She is finishing securing the cuirass when a loud crash echoes through the lair. It is the sound of magic and glass shattering and it sends her running down the hall and down the staircase. Des roars and there is shouting, the clash of weapons, the charge of battle magic as she nears the atrium. She steps over the threshold and into darkness.

Serahlin blinks and slowly her eyes adjust miraculously to the lowlight. Des is on the far side of the atrium, opposite to where most of the hunters are. His wings flutter and it is too late for her to run before she realizes he is igniting the shadows. Their eyes meet and his widen in horror.

“NO!”

The shadows ignite in brilliant fashion. Serahlin brings her arms in reflex but the fire surrounds her and her skin burns as she is thrown back from the explosion. Light flashes, blinding her. The explosion deafens her as her body crashes into the floor. She gasps as the air is forced out of her lungs and she is rolled to her back, staring up at the now blasted glass ceiling. Everything appears to move in slow blurry fashion, she thinks she hears her name but she cannot move, cannot respond.

Her ears ring and she is only vaguely aware of the battle occuring around her. She thinks someone shouts her name. Something crashes, sending vibrations through the floor. She needs to move, needs to…get out of here. To safety, to Adannar. Try as she might, all her body can manage is to turn her head towards the atrium.

She cannot see Des anywhere, all she sees are the hunters - ones that are dead and alive. At least ten bodies are strewn about, burned and blown apart. Serahlin tries to take stock of herself, fear that she too is blown apart - but she feels her feet, her hands, each finger and each toe. She feels her stomach, feels the weight of the cuirass that is still secured to her chest.

One of the alive hunters turns to her, eyes dark and face drawn. The lady Andruil is telling them something and they nod before striding over to Serahlin. She feels the menace roll off them and fear wells up in her. Their hand barely touches her cuirass before a powerful, bright magic rises from her and sends them flying away from her.

What…what was that? She has never manifested magic before, how…what? Has her stay in the forest changed her so much that she is now magical? As if there is not enough happening!

Andruil raises an eyebrow at Serahlin before stalking forward herself. She does not make the same mistake as the previous hunter and instead kneels next to Serahlin.

“What do we have here?” She says, looking over Serahlin, “My brother’s former betrothed, the princess Serahlin. My other brother has been looking for you, and you turn up here - ruining my hunt.” Serahlin swallows, trying to keep her composure while the huntress looks her over.

“Such a pretty thing, and powerful too.” She trails a finger down Serahlin’s cheek making Serahlin wish she could blast the huntress away too. But the field seems to be activated only by aggression. Andruil tilts her head to the side and a sickening smile spreads across her face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Falon’din I found you. No, I think I’ll keep you all to myself. You! Pick her up! Gag her and put her in the wagon. Set for Tavathan!” Andruil rises and walks from Serahlin just in time for her to be picked up by a large hunter who smells horrible. She tries to struggle but her limbs remain uncooperative.

Let me go! She wants to scream. She wants to kick and scream and run far from this place. She only meant to warn Adannar, she never thought…she never thought she would become a target.

She is carried out of the lair and to a large wagon that looks like it was originally meant to hold other hunting trophies. Large hunting trophies, dragon sized trophies. She is tied to a railing, gagged, and she tries very hard not to cry. It is the only battle she wins that day.

**

Venavismi knows many things when it comes to elves. Ana trusts him when he says that the people are dangerous and she should stay away. But she is also terribly curious when after they leave, they return. Their return is relayed to her by the whispers in the wind and the rustle of leaves, the skittering of small animals in the brush. Tales of death and destruction come with them, making Ana frown.

When night falls and Vena is safely sleeping in his little man-hut, she journeys to see what the people are doing. Particularly this Andruil. Vena had such an interesting reaction to her, a mixture of fear and resignation.

Ana is silent as she makes her way through her section of the forest. She climbs several trees and perches herself in the high canopy of an old tree that has always been kind to her. It allows her to sit upon its branches shrouded in shadow as she watches the camp of elves below. The wind carries the people’s whispers to her ears and from them she learns that the Princess Andruil has returned from her hunt. But the Lady was unsuccessful…something happened?

What had the princess been hunting? If she is so good to inspire such fear in Vena and to have the pelts of bears, wolves, wyverns, great bears, and even more - what kind of creature must have eluded her?

Someone whispers dragon and Ana swallows, sick to her stomach. Both Adannar and Selene are her friends, they are creatures of the forest just as much as her. Well, perhaps not Selene, but she has been here long enough that Ana considers her part of the forest. Andruil failed, which is good! That means her friends escaped her!

“She brought back something else, though. It’s in the wagon, she’s told everyone to stay away from it except for the hunters.”

“Damn hunters get to know everything.”

The wind carries more whispers to Ana, making her frown. Something else? What else could she have recovered that could compare to a dragon? Carefully, Ana makes her way around the camp, careful of the wards they have placed. She sticks to the trees until she is high above the wagon in question.

Oh no. No, no, no.

A forest creature like Ana sits in the wagon, her glow clear and radiant, full of life. She is tied to the wagon, slumped and hurting. It is wrong!

Ana hastily climbs back down and runs to her tree and Vena. She needs his help to break the creature free!

She flings the door to the structure open, “Vena! Wake up!”

“What?! Are we under attack?!” He sits up straight immediately, grabbing the sword he keeps next to the bed, eyes wild.

“Andruil has taken a forest creature! We must rescue her!” She declares. Vena does not immediately answer her, instead setting the sword down.

“Andruil? I told you to stay away from her! That forest creature could be you!” He says as if to dissuade her from their task.

“Exactly! That is why we must go free her,” she says.

“Ana -

“Please, help me,” she asks and she is met with a heavy sigh.

“We will scout it out, then decide from there - alright?” It’s enough for now, she nods readily. She lets him don his armor - shitty armor is still better than no armor.

She shows him the way, moving through the brush as quickly as they dare. They stick to the forest floor rather than a tree - Vena still needs to improve his tree climbing abilities. She gets them as close to the wards as possible and points to the wagon.

“In there,” she whispers.

Vena directs his attention to the wagon and goes still, “That is not a forest creature,” he whispers.

“Yes she is! She glows like one of us!” Ana argues but Vena shakes his head slowly.

“That is Princess Serahlin of Eletharan.”

“That…that is impossible!”

“I know her! I met her at a dinner Sylaise hosted once, that is Serahlin. And Andruil will not give her up easily. We cannot do this alone, Ana,” he says. Ana frowns and looks back at the creature, this…Serahlin. She glows like a forest creature, and perhaps something happened to her. Ana has heard of stories of elves and others becoming one with the forest - perhaps this is what they speak of. Whatever she is, Ana is certain that this Serahlin does not deserve to be captured by Andruil.

“We can’t do nothing.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Vena says, “do you have forest friends? Little critters who can help us?” Vena asks and Ana thinks. She could ask…it would be a lot to ask, particularly since they’re still in hiding, but they would understand the circumstances.

“I do, but they’re not little,” she replies, “how good are you at riddles?”


	11. The Prisoner, The Princess, and the Tower

The crash against the tower wakes Adannar from his deep sleep. He staggers awake, back in his draconic form. He is alert, the Dreaming’s trappings falling away from him as he quickly makes his way to the crashing sound. A long flash of white outside the archway shows Selene is heading toward the crash as well. The air in the tower surges with magic and he flies out with her.

They descend to an old room, one that has not been used in centuries, Adannar knows. Selene thrusts the doors open with her magic and Adannar is right behind her. The room is filled with dust and he thinks an old bookcase has been shoved to the floor, broken beyond repair.

“Show yourself!” Selene growls. The rubble shifts and Adannar gets a read on the energy swirling around their newcomer.

He heaves a sigh of relief just as Selene charges into the dust cloud.

“Des.”

Tall horns, so purple they are nearly black, poke above the dust cloud as Selene dives into the dust cloud.

“Selene,” rumbles Des. There is a heavy charged sigh in the room from the reunion.

Come to think of it, Adannar should give them privacy. He needs to check on Dirthamen anyways. He flies back up to the infirmary to find Dirthamen and the two mechanical ravens in much of the same state as before. Dirthamen is asleep, recovering from his ordeal. His shape has changed, hair turned to feathers and there are four eyes on his face, all closed. When Adannar inspects his hands, he finds small suction cups on the pads of his fingers.

Deceit and Fear are keeping close. Fear even pecks at Adannar while he inspects Dirthamen.

“I’m only making certain he is doing well, which he is. There is some soul fatigue, but that should ease after a day or two in the Dreaming.” He props Dirthamen up and funnels some water down his throat. Maybe he can try for some chicken broth later in the day. He sets Dirthamen down, casting a couple of restorative spells to help him.

Deceit makes a caw, or rather a hollow mechanical approximation of a caw. After inspection of the magical bond between Dirthamen, Deceit, and Fear displays no strain or unequal distributions in magical connection in either of the streams, Adannar officially declares them all healthy as can be. He thinks some stress eases off of Fear but he can’t be certain, while they are his creation, he isn’t exactly fluent in the body language of mechanical raven.

A thump at the door has Adannar turning to see Selene and Des, glowing radiantly with magic and the renewed energy in their bond.

“Friends! Our fellow is being fixed up without a worry. Oh Des, it’s Longing! He got a body and then these fellows are Deceit and Fear, they came from Longing, or Dirthamen rather. He goes by that now -

“Adannar,” Selene says, voice grave.

“Yes?” Adannar asks, setting his tools aside. Concern rises in him as he sees even Des is being serious. He is covered in soot and there are open wounds on his neck and legs.

“Andruil came to your home,” Des says, “and Serahlin as well.”

His stomach drops and horror fills the space. His mind races as Des continues to speak, the words ring in his head and hears them as if he were back in the Dreaming.

“Andruil came prepared for a dragon hunt. Serahlin came ahead of her, she wanted to warn you. When Andruil found me, Serahlin was there. I cast one of my spells, the shadowed fireball, you know the one. It exploded and she screamed. When I came to, seconds later, I saw her unmoving on the other side. I’m lucky I got out of there alive.”

Adannar blinks at Des, the world focused in on his words as they echo in his head. _It exploded and she screamed…unmoving…._ Serahlin was there? She came back? But then…no, it doesn’t make any sort of sense.

This is not right. This is not real, Serahiln cannot be….

His voice is low when he speaks, full of disbelief, “You left her there? You just…ran and left her there?”

“Adannar, she was likely dead -

“You ran and just _left_ her there!” He shouts, disbelief turning quickly to terrified outrage. “After I specifically asked you to keep her safe if she,” his voices cracks on a sob, “…she came back. She came back…” He turns away from Des, unable to look at him. How could he allow this to happen? The one thing Adannar asked of Des, the one thing.

“Adannar, it’s not Des’s fault. You know just as well as us that there is not much we can do against Andruil,” Selene tries to reason but Adannar shakes his head.

“I love her, Sel. I love her and he left her.” And if she wasn’t dead then…leaving her there like that….

“Addie…” she moves toward him and he backs up to the window, shaking his head.

“How could you leave her like that?” He asks, still not looking at Des.

“What purpose would it have served to stay? I did not wish to die myself,” Des says and it makes Adannar’s stomach roll. Rationally, he knows it is too much to expect someone to risk their life for someone they barely know even if she is beloved by Adannar. But the anger and sorrow and disbelief leave no room for rational thought. Des left Serahlin, he just…left her.

She came back and he wasn’t there.

“I trusted you. I left to help you, and the one thing I ask for…”

“Adannar, that’s not fair,” Selene says, her tone not quite admonishing.

“No,” he chokes, “none of this is fair. It’s not fair that you lost Longing, it’s not fair that so many of us have been killed, it’s not fair that after all of this I find someone I love and she…no, it’s not fair.” He turns from them, sorrow and fear and betrayal swelling within him. It isn’t fair and it isn’t right that he left to help Des with Selene and stayed to help Dirthamen for Selene, only for Serahlin to come back to him. Or try to come back to him, and then…he cannot bear the thought.

Worse is that he thought he protected her with his spell and…wait.

“Des, you said the spell exploded and it hurt you,” Adannar says.

“Yes.”

“That shouldn’t happen, magic recognizes its own and does not harm it.”

“I know…oh, then -

“Then why would it hurt you? I cast a protection spell on Serahlin after healing her with the shards from what was Composure.”

Adannar turns back to Des and Selene, who wear expressions of realization.

“She’s not dead,” Des says and Adannar shakes his head, clinging to hope. She could be out there right now, in his home or in the woods…

“We need to find her.” He is already in motion, moving out of the infirmary and towards the armory where he can grab necessary supplies.

“Adannar, wait!” Selene calls.

“I have to find her!” He shouts back. They are hot on his tail as he swoops into the armory.

“Listen to her, Addie. Andruil is still out there and she is ready to hunt a dragon,” Des says and Adannar snorts. Des, being reasonable?

“You flew all the way here from the Obelisk because you felt Selene was hurt. Serahlin is definitely hurt, I need to find her.” Adannar moves past the racks of old armor and to the rack holding vials and orbs filled with various gases that can explode and heal among other things. He straps on a harness meant to hold the flasks and starts loading them into it.

“He has a point,” Des says.

“Oh for the love - you need a plan that is not just go in and get her. What if Andruil is there? What will you do to fight her? She has been on a dragon killing spree these past years. She has killed eight in two years.”

“Selene, I love her! I can’t just leave her out there!”

“Then don’t do her the disservice of getting yourself killed because you didn’t think through the risks!” Selene shouts and it makes Adannar stop for a moment. He admits, though begrudgingly, she is right. He can’t just fly off in a half-brained attempt to help Serahlin when there is such clear and present danger.

Dammit.

He heaves a sigh and slumps forward, “You’re right.”

“I am. Now let us help you.”

Adannar does as Selene says and sets the harness aside then follows Des and Selene into a chamber above the healing annex. There is a large circular table that is built directly into the floor and when Selene waves her claws over the surface, a map of the forest rises.

“Can I find the spell’s energy signature from this?” Adannar asks and Selene bobs her head.

“Yes, just cast the finding charm and it should move the map accordingly.”

Adannar does as she says and watches carefully as the landscape of the map changes. It rolls past his home, past the tower and toward the outskirts of the ruins. The landscape ceases movement and a spot begins to glow bright with recognition.

There. Serahlin is there, near the ruins. What is she doing out there?

“This is strange, I’ve never taken her to the ruins,” he says, moving the map so he can get a clearer picture of where she is. Why would she go somewhere she’s never seen?

A hollow ringing sounds throughout the tower and Selene’s attention snaps to the staircase spiraling up through the tower.

“Someone is here.” She opens up her wings and flies from the room and down into the entryway, Des quick on her tail. Adannar glances down at the map before he follows them out. The map isn’t going anywhere and whoever is outside the tower could potentially pose a threat. Though he wonders if a threat would take the time to ring the bell, so to speak.

Selene casts a seeing portal in front of the door making it so that the door appears to not be there. On the other side of the door is a familiar redheaded dryad with leaves in her hair.

“Ana!” Selene says, throwing the door open.

“SHIT!” An unfamiliar dark-haired elven man shouts beside Ana.

“Selene!” Ana says, running up to Selene and wrapping her arms around Selene’s leg. “It’s been too long!”

“It has! Oh I’ve missed you!”

“Ana!” Adannar roars as he descends down.

“Shit, shit, shit.” The man says again and Adannar sighs. Des turns to him and sighs, a little smoke puffing out of his nose.

“I take it you’ve never been around dragons before.”

The man does not answer, just stares blankly at Des. Adannar lands and Ana runs over to hug him next.

“Adannar! I thought you were in the mountains.”

“I was, am, our friends simply needed my assistance.” He pulls his lips back into a draconic smile that Ana returns, though Adannar catches sight of the elven fellow turning white as a sheet behind her. The poor thing really must have never seen a dragon before.

“And Des! Aren’t you supposed to be at the Obelisk? It’s too dangerous for you and Selene to be in the same place for overlong.” Ana gives Des a curious albeit dubious look. Des smirks and his wings rustle.

“You know me, I like to live life on the edge,” he says, leaning his head down to bump against Ana. She turns to Des and scritches the undersides of his cheeks.

“I’ll be sure to bring some of those flowers you like so much next time.”

Des rumbles low in his belly, leaning into the scratch.

“Ana! Who is your terrified friend?” Adannar asks and the man somehow blanches even further.

“This is Vena, he was stabbed by…someone, but he’s better now. I healed him. But he’s not the point right now, I came because I need help, or rather a creature of the forest needs help.” She gestures to Vena and takes on her stubborn face. She won’t leave until she gets her way which is…unfortunate considering that Adannar needs to be focused on -

“…Serahlin, not a forest creature,” the man, Vena, is saying. Adannar’s attention snaps to him and moves forward to Vena.

“Serahlin? Did you say you saw Serahlin? When, where? How was she? Was she bleeding or hurt, why are you not saying anything!” He says, voice rising and rising in volume.

“Addie, you’re big and scary to the little elvhen man, why don’t you let him speak?” Des says, making Adannar realize he is being rather intimidating to the much smaller Vena. He leans back and tries to appear apologetic but he is so full of anticipation and raw emotion it is difficult to not appear the friendly and non-threatening dragon. He needs to find Serahlin, he is consumed with the need and damn the consequences.

Ana skips over to Vena and laces her arm with his, “Vena says it is the Princess Serahlin, not too far from my willow. She is being kept by the Andruil.”

He cannot roar, he cannot roar, he absolutely _cannot roar in front of the elf_. Oh but he wants to, in anguish, in anger, in draconic righteous fury. It is a rare emotion for him, but there is a common thread of possessiveness in dragons. It is unwise to take anything, or anyone, from a dragon that is perceived as theirs. It is one thing for Serahlin to leave on her volition, but for her to be taken and from his lair…it makes his blood rise and his belly heat with preparation. He reminds himself that this elf is not responsible for Serahlin’s abduction, and Des is not truly at fault either. The only person he can truly fault is the person who abducted her - Andruil.

“That explains why the table found her by the ruins, at least,” Selene is saying. Her words sound distant and unreal he is so focused upon himself.

Andruil has Serahlin, the same Andruil who has slain…so many dragons and poses a very real threat to each of them. But if they all worked together, perhaps they would have a chance. Or it would invigorate her, the thrill of the hunt, taking on three dragons at once. Add to it that none of them have actually fought in decades, centuries even.

Selene seems to be thinking the same thing since she glances over at Adannar with a concerned look. Andruil came prepared for a dragon hunt, the only thing that threw her off was the protection spell on Serahlin. Sure there are three of them, but that does not lessen the danger for each of them in a way. The likelihood that one of them would die is just too high, and depending on which one…it could kill two. It is for that very reason Des and Selene have been apart so long. The risk has been too high.

“Andruil will be ready for us,” Selene says.

“Ana, could you ask any of your friends for help? The trees, perhaps the faeries or the sylvans? Other dryads?” Adannar asks. Ana’s expression turns pained.

“After Glory, most of the dryads retreated into their trees, not to be seen again. And the faeries are still undecided on everything. I could talk to some of the outcasts, see if they would assist but by the time we have an answer, Andruil have taken Serahlin out of the forest.”

A silence falls over them all as they consider.

“What about Melarue?” Des suggests and Selene shakes her head.

“Same problem as the faeries, by the time they get here…not to mention it would take significantly longer for them to get here all the way from the island,” Selene says. Adannar sighs loudly.

“What if…what if we split up, I can go talk to Anaris, Ana goes to the Sylvans, and Des goes to Vitality? Selene can stay here with Dirthamen to make sure his healing stays on track -

“Dirthamen? As in the Lord Dirthamen, is here?” Vena says, looking even more confused than before. Ana pats his arm and Selene bristles for a moment.

“He is. I would appreciate you keep his presence here a secret,” Selene says, her magic rising in a purple aura. Vena puts his hands up in an innocent, or perhaps defensive, manner.

“No problem, I’m in hiding too after being stabbed by Sylaise and all.”

Adannar coughs, “As I was saying. If we have enough help, it won’t matter if Serahlin is out of the forest or not. Two faeries, three dragons, a dryad, and a sylvan or two can certainly muster up the ability to save her.” They all nod at Adannar’s plan, making him feel good but Vena frowns and makes a face.

“Except that it does make a difference. None of you know how the elvhen build their fortresses, the kind of defenses they have - you know that Ghilan’nain has some anti-magic stuff floating around right? And, wait, why are you all looking at me like that? I don’t like this, stop looking at me like that.”

Adannar grins, his teeth showing in what must be a frightening display but he cannot help it, “We don’t, but you apparently do.”

Vena sighs and drags a hand down his face, “Great, this is great.”

**

Set in the rolling western hills of Elvhenan, the town of Tavathan is home to mainly sheepherders. There is a miller and his wife who live in a tall windmill that would be the tallest building in the town if it were not for the tall tower overlooking the land.

The tower is a newer build attached to a sprawling fortess, lacking both age and magic like the towers from all the tales. But what it lacks in magic, it makes up in security personnel. Everywhere Serahlin turns her head, she sees a guard. They are a grim lot, bedecked in reddish scaled armor that makes her skin crawl. The tower may not be imbued with magic, but there is an undeniably eerie and unpleasant feel to this entire place. It feels hostile and she is put on edge.

Much to her relief, Andruil does not pay Serahlin much attention upon arrival. Instead, she has a hunter take Serahlin to a room close to the tower. The hunter leers at her before giving her the news that she has been invited to dine with Andruil come sunset.

A servant girl waiting for Serahlin takes her to a bath. She tends to Serahlin’s bath, assisting her with her hair and not leaving her side for a moment. Such a thing was normal in her home kingdom, servants tended to her bath all the time. It was a rare occurrence for her to be left alone. But then she went on the run and ended up in the forest. In that time she grew accustomed to her solitary baths. To have someone tend to her bath now feels…intrusive. Not that she says anything. She brushes off any discomfort as worry over her situation, which is not difficult to manufacture.

Serahlin leaves the bath and is taken back into the bedroom. The servant girl goes to the wardrobe and pulls out a beautiful burgundy gown. It seems that not only is Serahlin expected to attend dinner, she is to be displayed as Andruil wishes. Serahlin looks for her torn clothes she has worn for the past few days to find them gone. It is not a surprise but it still coils her gut. The disrespect and assumption are insults that she has not known before. But she is powerless here. If anyone knew she is here…she would surely be executed swiftly. She supposes that being alive and under Andruil’s scrutiny is better than death.

But that is a fine line if the rumors about Andruil are to be believed.

The servant helps into the red gown, pulling tightly on the corset back.

“Oh!” Serahlin gasps, hand flying to her stomach.

“My apologies, miss. The Princess like a small waist.” The servant is apologetic at least, her voice small and frail compared to Serahlin’s own. She is used to living here, used to hiding from Andruil and her minions.

“If the natural curve of my body is not appealing, why is she doing this?” She gasps as the servant tugs the strings again.

“I do not know, my lady,” the servant replies. Though Serahlin knows it is a lie - she does know and so does Serahlin. Andruil is the cat who enjoys playing with her prey before killing them.

Once the corset is laced, several layers of dress are put upon her then tied into place. Her hair is then pulled up into a full updo, exposing her neck that remains free of any necklaces, despite the low cut of the dress. She is very much the prey, now caught and wrapped pretty for the huntress.

With her dressing complete, the servant leaves. Serahlin is grateful to be left alone for the first time since she was in the forest. No hunters or Andruil leering at her in her torn clothing and messy hair. She spies herself in the mirror and tries not to despair too much. Serahlin adores fine things - fashion and jewelry have always been some of her favorite things, but she has always had at least a modicum of choice of what she wore. How she displayed herself was so important, and it still is important.

This is not how she has ever wanted to look, no matter how alluring it is.

Serahlin is not left alone for long. There is a knock at the door, but the hunter does not wait for Serahlin to say she is ready. He pushes the door in and barks that he is to take her to dinner. It is a command, not a request.

When she was younger, not yet even fifty, her mother liked to issue demands of her. She was to dress and act in a certain way, she was expected to do certain things. The goals her mother set for her were not Serahlin’s and she grew to resent them. She learned to rebel in subtle ways, walking more slowly to shorten engagements, wearing jewels that were not the exact shade her mother wanted but went with the robes and gowns nonetheless. She kept her head raised and her eyes sharp, daring her mother to say anything. But she couldn’t, not with people around, so Serahlin won. In the process, she set trends in her homeland, walking slowly became a new display of wealth. Over time, Serahlin’s mother’s demands of her became smaller and smaller, and while Serahlin’s influence grew, her mother’s waned.

The unhurried princess Serahlin, poised and tactfully rebellious.

She uses the same tactics here, raising her head high and slowing her steps just enough to be annoying. The hunter throws a glance back her, scowling.

“Are all of you this slow?” He asks and she raises a brow at him, the corners of her mouth dipping down.

Serahlin does not reply, but she does not increase her pace. He can wait, work on that patience she heard hunters are so proud of. The command to join Andruil for dinner did not come with the requirement to walk quickly. They can all wait.

She is taken to a great feast hall. The walls are lined with the severed and stuffed heads of the various beasts Andruil has slain. There are furs thrown over the long table, and the chandeliers are made from the antlers of great stags that wander the south-eastern forests. Candelabras and a great fire in a gigantic fireplace illuminate the otherwise dark room. The curtains are drawn tightly over the tall windows.

Andruil sits at the head of the table, bedecked in an outfit that is half armor and half formal attire, the leather garments fitted to fit her like a gentleman’s uniform native to Elvhenan. But it is still leather and altered to be protective and intimidating, particularly with the immense brown feathers adorning her cape. She looks more the part of a monster than Adannar ever did, even in his true dragon form.

The hunter-princess gestures to a seat next to her with a sinister smile, “Have a seat.” There is no pretense of options and so Serahlin lowers herself into the chair. Andruil takes her own seat, her disturbing smile never leaving her face.

“How do you like the castle, Princess? Is everything to your liking?” Speaking to Andruil is the conversational equivalent of walking through a stretch of woodland path covered in hidden bear traps. Serahlin adopts a polite smile.

“Everything is quite impressive and novel. I have not seen much of Elvhenan outside of Arlathan.”

“That is right, my fool brother never took you to his city.” Andruil gestures and a few servants begin to scurry.

“Unfortunately no. Tavathan is quite the lovely region.” It is the truth. The rolling green hills and the gentle breezes make the landscape quite the beauty, full of peace that is unfortunately disrupted by the dark fortress that has no business being called a castle.

A servant approaches Serahlin and fills her goblet with a dark red wine. They bow quickly before retreating.

“Please, try the wine, it is one of my favorites,” Andruil says, waving her hand at the goblet. Serahlin sips the wine, and she must admit…it’s quite good. Buttery and rich, the flavors dancing in her mouth making her want to drink more. And she is so hungry. The little scraps of food she has been given over the days has been pitiful and it has left her so famished.

With great restraint, Serahlin lowers the goblet, “It is delicious.”

Andruil’s expression turns to euphoric expectation, “Isn’t it? It comes from the northeastern territories, grown from a grape my wife has perfected just for me.”

“She sounds wonderfully devoted.”

“She is. Ah! More food. Come! Eat, please.” The servants place a platter of chicken and roasted potatoes with carrots and even a soup is brought out. Her stomach growls and it is even with greater restraint that she uses the proper utensils to cut into the chicken and the potatoes, cutting off small pieces to nibble.

“I know you are starving, princess, no need for civility. _Eat._ ”

Serahlin does not need to be told twice. Under other circumstances, she would have insisted upon the civility of utensils in polite defiance. But she is terribly hungry. She drops her fork and knife to pick up the chicken, tearing into it with her teeth. She feasts upon the meat, letting herself feel and solve the hunger that has been with her for days.

“Yes,” Andruil growls. The oddness of it does not stay with Serahlin, she is too focused on the delicious food before her. She devours a carrot, bites back into the chicken and catches her tongue. She gasps in surprise, pulling back and covering her mouth. The metallic taste of blood fills her mouth and her face flushes in embarrassment.

“Bite your tongue?” Andruil asks, her eyes half-lidded, leaning much closer to Serahlin than politeness dictates. Serahlin nods and Andruil grins before reaching up and pulling Serahlin’s hand away from her mouth. Before Serahlin can ask what she is doing, Andruil is pressing her mouth to Serahlin’s. She shoves her tongue into Serahlin’s mouth, tongue twining around her own, tasting the blood.

No! This is wrong, so wrong. Serahlin tires to pull away but when that does not work, Andruil simply holds her fast, she raises her free hand and means to shove Andruil away. In a flash of light, Andruil is sent flying away from Serahlin. The room rattles, the food clatters to the floor, the wine spills across the table. Serahlin stands in fright and horrid surprise, staring down at her hand.

She…did this?

The blast knocks the closest curtain open, allowing a shaft of moonlight to spill into the room.

Andruil slowly rises to her feet, breathing heavily but there is a nasty glint in her eye that makes Serahlin want to run.

“And there it is,” Andruil says, taking a step forward.

“I do not what it is, it hardly obeys me,” Serahlin says quickly.

Andruil chuckles, a dark hollow sound that sends chills down Serahlin’s back, “I have a talent as well, would you like to see it?” No, Serahlin would not, but Andruil continues forward until she is entering the moonlight. Serahlin cannot look away as the moonlight reveals appearance…skin dried and rotting away from the skull, eyes with no eyelid, mouth with no lips, only teeth.

Horror fills Serahlin, roots her to the ground even as the urge to run intensifies.

“Well?” The corpse that is Andruil says. She steps fully into the moonlight, and all Serahlin sees is death, somehow alive in some terrifying form of magic.

She turns, and runs from the room.

Andruil’s laugh echoes down the chamber, chasing Serahlin as she bolts through the hallways. She doesn’t know where she is running, only that she needs to get away. Run, run, until she cannot run anymore.

All of the doors are closed, and she runs past them to the only open door. She runs down the stairs the door leads to, heart racing. She’s a monster, Andruil is a monster, a horrifying undead rotting monster.

Terror spurs Serahlin down the stairs and into a dark space, sparsely lit room. Maybe it leads out of the fortress, let her run through the hills and back into the forest. She was safe in the forest! As backwards as it is, she was safe with Adannar.

A door opens and all hope is dashed when Andruil, no longer ghoulish, steps forward from the glowing light, making her form dark. She grabs Serahlin’s forearms and laughs.

“You are caught, little mouse. Nowhere to run,” she whispers, holding Serahlin fast. Serahlin lets out a terrified cry, her body sagging in inescapable fear.

“And it is time for you to meet my rabbit. Oh, rabbit! Where are you sweet thing,” she calls into the darkness. She shifts so that she is standing behind Serahlin, forcing her to look ahead into the darkness. And there, in the shadows is a large hulking form and as it moves closer, the light catches eyes red as blood and sharp teeth as long as daggers. Deep, dark rumbles echo in the dark, surrounding her. Thumps shake the dungeon and chains rattle as the beast draws closer.

No, not a beast. A dragon.

“Show her, my pet,” Andruil goads and Serahlin lets out a broken sob as the dragon, chained and small, smaller than Adannar, rears back and roars. The sound shakes the room and Serahlin’s knees give way. Andruil holds her up, forcing her to watch the dragon bare teeth and growl. Shadows spill from its mouth and claws scratch the stone floor. 

Andruil’s hand finds Serahlin’s chin, “Look at them, hear the chains? I bested them, they are mine. And so are you.” All at once she lets Serahlin go, moving away from her and back towards the light.

“If she tries to leave…bite her, but keep her alive.” The door slams, plunging the room into an inescapable dark.

The sobbing is uncontrollable, wracking her body. How did everything become so messed up? Not so long ago she was a princess, sitting pretty in her palace waiting to marry a prince. Not for love, but it was her life - put together and it made sense.

But this? Living in a forest with a man who turned out to be a dragon, falling in love with said man-dragon, running from him anyways, and now to be captured by Andruil and be potentially eaten by another dragon? What…what is this? She wants it to stop, all of it to simply stop and let her be. Has she not suffered enough?

“Stop it,” the dragon rumbles.

The demand simply makes her cry harder. They sigh heavily and the chains rattle as they move away from her. She hates this. She hates that she knows that they are trapped as much as she is, potentially even moreso. She is at least not chained. Dragons, she knows, should be close to where they come from. This can’t possibly be where they’re from, this dark, horrid place.

She shifts to sit more comfortably and the dragon exhales, the shadows rippling around her.

“Best heed the huntress’s words.” They move in a way so that a long tooth catches the little light still bleeding from under the door.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replies, voice weak from crying. She can’t go anywhere, she’s trapped and this is her guard - a fellow prisoner. It seems absurdity is her life now.

A stone drags across another stone somewhere in the darkness. The sound echoes then stops. The dragon moves and hisses low.

_“You shouldn’t be here!”_

“But I brought you food!” A bright voice says, not heeding the dragon’s words.

_“You need to leave, go back to the tower -_

“I hate that place, you know that.”

“Hello?” Serahlin calls out. The shuffling and speaking abruptly stops. There is a whisper, then another, then a long draconic sigh.

“Hello!” The cheery voice says again, this time closer. Serahlin turns toward the voice to see a long gold glowing stream. No, it’s a mane of hair, incredibly long hair that is bundled into a large braid that still drags on the floor. The glow casts shadows over the woman’s face, but Serahlin can see it is a kind face with a friendly smile.

“I am Aili,” she says, sticking her hand out to Serahlin. The stench of raw meat emanates from the hand, making Serahlin’s nose wrinkle. Even with all her time in the forest, she never quite got over the scent of raw meat.

“Serahlin, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I would take your hand but it smells like raw meat.” At least Aili laughs good naturedly about it, wiping her hands on her dress.

“Oh, yes. Uthvir needs food, Andruil is on this current experimental kick to see how long they can go without food because she’s evil like that.”

“That’s horrible,” Serahlin says, glancing over at the dragon who is making the chains clink slightly as their head moves, eating, she realizes.

“Welcome to Tavathan,” Aili says dryly.

“How exactly did you get in here?” Serahlin asks.

“Through unnecessary risks,” the dragon, Uthvir, says.

“Oh yes, because feeding you is unnecessary.” Aili is quick to say. And while she is nagging, there is no bite in her voice, or in Uthvir’s for that matter. Serahlin raises an eyebrow at them.

“It is.”

Aili rolls her eyes at them, “It’s just slipping through some loose stones in the larder, it really isn’t that big of a deal.”

“You do not need to -

“Let me fuss over you, someone ought to,” Aili says, cutting them in off in an affectionate annoyed tone of voice that has Uthvir ruffling their feathers.

“Fine.”

The bickering is so familiar to them making Serahlin wonder just how long these two have known each other, and how long it must then implied that they have been here. Of course, they could have known each other before being held here.

“How long has Andruil been…like that?” Serahlin asks and Aili shrugs.

“I don’t know exactly, but certainly for the majority of the time I have been here, so…for two hundred years at least.”

“And she’s hid it all this time,” Serahlin murmurs. Aili nods and glances at Uthvir.

“She started looking like that about the time Uthvir was brought here. I remember there was this fight, screaming and loud crashing one night. The night after that, I snuck out of the tower and saw her in the moonlight. It was disgusting.” Aili shivers and grimaces. Uthvir’s tail moves, pulling Aili’s attention. She frowns at the appendage before turning to them, “May I hold your tail, please?” She asks. Rather than speaking, they just move their tail to her. She sits with it and begins to undo her braid.

“What are you doing?” Serahlin asks and Aili smiles.

“Magic,” she says before wrapping the unbraided portion of her hair around Uthvir’s tail and begins to sing. It starts out soft and lilting before Serahlin feels it - the buzz of magic, the echo in her words as her hair glows even more brightly and Uthvir’s scales turn a vibrant shade of red where her hair is touching them.

Uthvir hums, or rather purrs, as the magic flows into their tail. Serahlin’s eyes widen at the magic, the healing before her eyes. It’s…amazing, and unexplainable. How did she do that? Is this why her hair glows? Her hair is magic?

The song ends and Aili unwraps Uthvir’s tail. Where there was once a long gash is now flawlessly healed - no scars or misplaced scales. Like the injury never happened.

“That is incredible,” Serahlin breathes.

“Thank you. It does come in handy,” she says, running her hand over Uthvir’s tail and the feathers at the end.

“I understand why your hair glows now,” Serahlin says and Aili nods.

“Yes, it was weird until Mother had me sing the song for the first time, my hair wrapped around her bleeding hand.”

“Your Mother?” Serahlin asks.

Aili looks up with a bitter smile, “At least, she calls herself my mother. Sylaise, the Fairest Lady, golden haired and perfect except she’s terrible and keeps me locked in a tower night and day.”

“That’s horrid, why would she do that?”

Aili’s expression turns sheepish then rueful, “Because I tried to escape ten times before she started locking me up.”

“I take it she is not your actual mother,” Serahlin replies and Aili shakes her head.

“No, she’s not.”

“If she locks you up, how are you here now?”

Aili shrugs, “There is a dumbwaiter that brings up food and things to my room in the tower. I lower myself down on it, then there is a room right above the dungeon with a few loose stones. Uthvir helps me down and I give them meat I take from the kitchens.”

The shadows on Aili’s face appear more stark, “I remember them, my parents. I remember Sylaise coming to my village and taking me. All because my stupid hair glowed.” Uthvir’s tail pushes against Aili, gently, as if to wrap around her in comfort. As much tension and anger enters her voice, her touch remains gentle, combing through the long feathers.

Aili looks up, “It’s probably also why Andruil took you.”

Serahlin’s brow furrows and she glances down at her hair, “My hair doesn’t glow.”

“But your eyes do. I’ve read books where some people can do amazing things with magic without any training. It happens every now and then and usually something about them glows. Hair or eyes or ears or hands.” Amazing things? Serahlin glances down at her hands and thinks of how Andruil was thrown from her, just like the hunter back at Adannar’s lair.

“Perhaps,” she whispers.

Uthvir grumbles and moves, their chains rattling with every step. They huff at Serahlin and it is her only warning to back up before they maneuver themselves between Serahlin and Aili.

“The guards are looking for you,” the say as they nudge her. Aili sighs.

“That’s sooner than I was hoping. At least let me help -

“There is no time. You need to go,” they tell her and she huffs at them, indignant.

“Fine. But I’m coming back as soon as I can! You can’t stop me.” They lift her up with their head, her body draped over their face. She smooths her hands over their brow and place a kiss there before resting her forehead against them. “Be nice, please?”

They sigh, “I am not nice.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” she whispers.

“I will do…what I can and what I must,” they offer softly. She presses another kiss to them.

“Good. I will be back!” And with that Aili climbs back up into the ceiling, sliding the stones back into place. Uthvir leans back down and retreats into a corner far from Serahlin as if she could do them more harm than the other way round.

“She is quite lovely,” Serahlin says. They do not respond. At least not right away.

“There is a cot back here, you can sleep on it,” they say. It’s something, she thinks, rising from the ground. She takes a hesitant step forward, then another until she bumps into what must be their tail because they hiss and retreat from her.

It strikes her once more how wrong it is for them to be down here. She cannot fathom being such a strong creature being locked, trapped down here when she is meant to fly. She apologizes and continues into the dark until she hits something else about knee height. Slowly, she bends down and feels the object out - long and rectangular, lightly padded. Relief courses through her and she takes off her dress. She places it on the edge of the cot and then loosens her corset until she can slide it off over her head. Left in her chemise, she sighs in wondrous relief. Finally, Serahlin lies down.

She doubts she will be able to sleep, not with the dragon and the thoughts of Andruil in her head, but it’s something, at least. A little comfort.

 _Adannar will come_ , she thinks, _he’ll come and I will apologize, because he is good, he wouldn’t just leave me here. He wouldn’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Des and Selene belong to @selenelavellan (tumblr won’t let me tag you)
> 
> Uthvir, Andruil, Deceit, Fear, Dirthamen, and Vena belong to Feynite
> 
> Aili belongs to Little_Lotte
> 
> Anaris and Melarue mentions belong to circadian_rythm
> 
> Ana, and Vitality mention belong to lycheepit
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


	12. Where The Fair Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anaris belongs to circadian_rythm
> 
> Glory (mention), Vena, Dirthamen, Falo’din (mention), Andruil, Sylaise, and Uthvir belong to Feynite
> 
> Ana, Vitality, and Athralan (mention) belong to lycheepit
> 
> Des and Selene belong to SeleneLavellan
> 
> Aili belongs to Little_Lotte

Adannar always found the fair folk to be interesting. Mostly a good interesting, the kind of interesting that had him returning every few decades to attend a party or two. They were excellent customers, always adhering to agreed terms. Since dragon craftsmanship was now a rare commodity, they rarely tried to pull anything with him.

The Summer Court fairies tend to visit him more frequently than the Winter Court, but he welcomes all. He doesn’t play favorites, that would be foolish, even for a dragon. _One does not mess with the favors of the fair folk._ Glory said that once, their tone surprisingly grave even while they attended a grand wedding between two Summer Court fairies.

Outside of the Summer and Winter courts, there are six other courts and outcasts who don’t belong to any of the courts. They are often referred to as the “wild fairies” or the “trickster fairies” but the latter is really a redundant statement, all fairies are tricksy in their own ways.

It is an outcast that Adannar seeks now, an older fairy by the name of Anaris. Older than Adannar by at least a few centuries, Anaris has always been an outsider to the courts. Adannar thinks at one point he may have been part of the Shadow Court, but he can’t be certain. There are rumors of course, but he has found that rumors are often spurious when it comes to fairies. He knows there was a great falling out between Anaris and the dragon, Fate, but other than that, he knows little about Anaris’s personal life.

What he does know is that Anaris is the best damned checkers player he has ever met and has hustled even a greedy troll out of his treasure. He also has spent time among elves, gaining wealth and power from the elves rather than playing the political games the court fairies do. He has knowledge of the world Adannar wishes to breach to save Serahlin, and he may even have power enough to help.

Knowing these things about Anaris is one thing, _finding_ Anaris is another.

Luckily, Adannar once made a necklace for Anaris. A golden chain affixed with a locket that he enchanted to store almost anything he wanted - _almost_ , even Adannar has his limits. That particular enchantment took years to create, and years more to perfect for the locket. Enchantments like those are why the fairies continue to commission Adannar for his work. He does not pride himself so much on those pieces as he does his creatures (though _several_ fairies have tried to strike bargains for them, and he has had to put protective enchantments on the creatures to keep them safe from the less scrupulous of the fairies), but he does enjoy creating the jewelry. And no one knows how to gift like a fairy.

All of Adannar’s magical works have particular energy signatures. Those signatures are tied to him, magic that will always recognize its own. He can feel them if he focuses on the mental image of the object in his mind. He does this now, picturing the locket and feeling the familiar signature of magic that still sings to him.

He follows the song to a field of wild tulips and daffodils far to the north of the forest. It is full of the sort of latent magic that once filled the lands with abundance. There is a serenity to this magic, a delightful power that makes him sigh as he lands on the soft earth. He can see why a fairy may wish to live here for a time. It’s safe, the magic is just here, invigorating and empowering.

Adannar transforms himself into his elven form. He calls upon clothes with fine stitching and glittering threads. Fairies appreciate finery, it makes negotiation all the easier.

The locket is not far from him. Though much smaller than what he initially crafted it to be. It’s not surprising, fairies prefer to be in their natural small shapes rather than in their affected larger forms. Adannar is too large to make jewelry that is initially able to fit the tiny fairies, so he infuses each piece with the ability to change size with its wearer. The fairies shift into what resemble elven forms, but with an otherworldliness that unsettles most. Adannar gets it though, most are put off by his draconic form. Fairy wings, horns, tails, claws, slitted eyes, hooves - they all accompany the fairy into their larger form. They _can_ be willed to be concealed, but the effort is extreme, and fairies are loathe to do it. They like the otherworldliness for the most part, it is part of who they are.

Anaris, though, is an interesting fairy. Adannar doesn’t think he’s ever seen Anaris in his true form. While most fairies parade their forms - their wings or tails or hooves - Anaris has kept his largely secret. There are rumors that say he has wings, some say he has horns, others say he has _six_ tails, and others say he has _all_ of identifiers. Adannar doesn’t see much point in speculating what Anaris has or doesn’t have, those are clearly attributes he’d rather keep to himself. What Adannar _does_ know Anaris has is power and the ability to infiltrate even an elven keep.

Adannar strides through the field and tries not to let his body fall into the flowers to bask in the magic. He needs to stay focused on the task at hand - find Anaris, convince him to join the cause, rescue Serahlin. _Then apologize to her so much that she forgives me._ Stick to the plan.

There is a baby tree not too far from where he is. It strives to be big and tall like its predecessors, though how a single tree managed to take root here is a feat in itself. Adannar tilts his head to the side and moves toward the tree. It is split close to the ground with two trunks reaching towards the sky, creating a V. Inside that V is what appears to be a dense spider’s web, but Adannar can see the magic surrounding the visage. This is a fairy structure.

“Good tidings!” Adannar says, careful not to blow the structure over. There is a _CLANG_ and the illusion wavers before solidifying once more.

“Ah, my old draconic friend, Adannar!” A familiar voice says from above. Adannar looks up to see a dark fairy with a glowing smile and similarly glowing eyes. Several rings ling his fingers and the locket Adannar had used to find him dangles from a hand.

“I was wondering why my locket was humming. Care to tell me why you sought me?” Anaris asks in a friendly tone that belies what is likely irritation over being disturbed. Still, Adannar cannot help but smile.

“I would! Shall you assist me in becoming your size or will you become mine?” He asks.

“Aaah, this is a business call. Very well.” Anaris waves his hand and Adannar allows his shifting energy to cooperate and soon he is tiny just like Anaris. It feels…very crowded to do this. It’s odd to compact his essence into the size of an elf, compacting himself even further into that of a _fairy_. Well, it’s not the most pleasant sensation.

Still, Adannar allows himself to become an itsy-bitsy version of himself then moves toward the spider web. Anaris thankfully dispels the visage to reveal his aravel, modest in size but luscious and beautiful in every other way. The inside is filled with rich fabrics and silverware. Anaris follows Adannar inside and offers him a seat, but foregoes the offering of food. It’s a politeness that Adannar appreciates, one less thing to talk through before business. _No, Anaris, I will not eat fairy food and accidentally enslave myself to you. Fairies do not, should not, keep dragons as pets. Remember Aedirwell and Ulein? Because I do and that was a very bad thing._

There is no need to visit unpleasant memories, however as Adannar takes a seat and waits as Anaris draws up his protections around the Aravel. Fairy outcasts must be careful with their dwellings, there are many who would prey upon them.

“What brings you to my aravel?” Anaris asks, sweeping his arm out, light glinting off the rings adorning his fingers.

Adannar takes a deep breath, “A woman who is very dear to me has been kidnapped. She is spirit-touched and is considered part of the forest now.”

“Interesting. And who has kidnapped this woman?”

“Andruil.”

Anaris lifts an eyebrow, “How unpleasant for her.”

“And potentially all of us if Andruil somehow harnesses her power.” Adannar represses a shudder. From what Des said, Adannar believes that Serahlin has been imbued with a type of telekinesis that is activated by fear. There are tales of powers being stolen from people through sacrifice and forbidden rituals.

“ _If_ Andruil harnesses the power. Those abilities have long eluded the elves.”

“I fear the worst,” Adannar says plainly. It serves well to be blunt with fairies. They can’t lie and while they have figured out ways around lying to simply obfuscate the truth, there is a quality to plain speech that they appreciate.

Anaris inspects his nails, light bending around his rings, “You seek my help to free this woman from Andruil’s clutches?”

Adannar gives a curt nod, “Yes.” Anaris considers him for a long moment, sipping his drink, his eyes catching the light. For a moment Adannar swears his eyes turn to look like that of a cat’s, but it recedes as quickly as it appears. Anaris puts the drink down and rolls a stone between his fingers. It is well-polished by time, faint magicks pulse from it, not enough to be concerning of to be really effective. Anaris considers it for a moment before grasping it tightly in his fist, turning his gaze back to Adannar.

“I will help…for a price.” The fairies and their prices, but it is nothing less than what Adannar expected. Adannar keeps his face neutral, emotions reigned in tightly.

“Did you have something in mind?”

Anaris brings his gaze directly to Adannar’s and he feels the air charge with seriousness, “My price is thus - I will choose one item from your lair and that item will become my possession, never to be stolen back by you or your allies.” His voice echoes slightly with the offer. If Adannar is to accept it will create a magical contract that will obligate Adannar to honor the contract lest he experience extreme debilitating pain.

Adannar’s brows furrows. His hoard is his, the only person he would be comfortable with sharing it with is Serahlin. But…

“I will only agree to the terms if the item is not of significant personal value or one of my creations or components for one of my creations or anything crafted by hand that is determined for use by someone who is not you. The item will be granted only if Serahlin is returned safely to the forest.” The counter offer makes his own voice vibrate with magic.

Anaris considers the option, not revealing anything in his expression.

“The item will be granted if I have done everything in my power to return Serahlin to the forest safely,” Anaris counters.

“Then you must swear to do everything in your power to return her safely,” Adannar replies quickly.

Minutes tick by before Anaris grins and extends a jeweleried hand, “I accept your terms. I swear to the Great Magicks of this Forest to do everything within my power to return Serahlin to the forest safely.” Adannar clasps his hand and feels the bond come over him. It sinks into his soul and wraps around his being.

“Excellent,” Anaris says, withdrawing his hand. He flexes his fingers at the lingering tingles of magic.

“Why did you ask for that, anyways?” Adannar asks, rubbing his hand against his leg.

Anaris rolls his eyes, “As opposed to what? Only a fool steals from a dragon’s lair.”

**

“What are Sylvans anyways?” Vena asks as he follows Ana down what she called a path. The earth is not packed, the foliage is not culled away, and he finds himself tripping over roots every so often.

“They’re spirits who have inhabited trees and formed a bond with it.”

Vena’s brow furrows, “I thought that’s what you are?”

Ana shakes her head and gestures at a fern. The plant shudders then lifts its fronds allowing her to pass. He attempts to follow her to have the frond come down, smacking his chest. Ah, right, not a dryad. He pushes the frond to the side and shimmies around it, lagging only somewhat behind Ana.

“I was a spirit who took root in the earth and grew into the tree. The magic then grew within me until I could take this body. While most of me now inhabits this body, part of me will always be part of my tree. That is why it’s _my_ tree. Sylvans bond with what is already there, there is little creation involved.” She moves so effortlessly, it’s enthralling. Two butterflies descend and flutter around her head for a moment before moving on.

“So if I touched your tree, you’d feel it?” He asks, catching himself from falling into the mud.

“Yes? In a way. I wouldn’t feel the sensation specifically of being touched but I would know you were touching it. Now if I was inside the tree, I would feel it as a tree feels touch.” The world reacts to her, listening to her soft wishes as she walks. It does not listen to him as he stumbles after her, but it is worth it to see her.

In Sylaise’s court, he would watch his lady stride through the gilded halls, perfect and terrifyingly beautiful. With mere glances, courtiers wilted and fled. For so long he saw her and thought she was everything powerful - with her beauty wielded like a weapon. But watching Ana here, he sees a different sort of power. That which bends to her do so out of their own will, not hers. She asks the forest to move for her and it complies because it recognizes her as its own.

Ana’s power is more beautiful, he realizes. The kind of power that makes him feel powerful in return instead of fearful.

When she turns to smile at him, his heart flutters in his chest and an ache settles itself around his sternum. Oh that is not good, not good at all. Or it’s wonderful, depending on how he looks at it.

Let’s see, he was stabbed - which was bad, a definitely negative thing. But he was rescued by Ana - a definite positive. It turns out that Ana is kind and beautiful and spunky, she gives as good as she gets, rolling even with his off-kilter, energetic humor. Another positive.

“We’re almost there. I’ll talk to them, you just…”

“Stand here and look pretty, got it.” He gives a thumbs up and she smiles.

“Just make sure they don’t see the axe unless it gets violent. Sylvans like to bluff a lot, so be wary.” She turns from him, and her skin shifts into _bark_. She really is a tree woman.

A few more minutes of walking and they reach a glen. The trees are different here, long and lean, covered in weeping moss. They are hunched around the grove, leaning over it like a family leans over a dinner table.

Ana begins to speak in a strange language, low and earthy. He feels like he is only hearing half of what she is saying, the rest of it in magic that makes his skin tingle. A deep sense of foreboding comes over Vena. He wants to voice that maybe they should leave when one of the trees _moves_.

It is not a familiar movement, not elf or human like in the least. A limb stretches toward Ana before the entire tree begins to come to life - roots and all.

Ana’s voice grows louder only to be met with a deep rumbling echo. Many deep rumbling echos, actually. More of the trees move making Vena grip the axe tighter.

“Ana…?” He asks warily. She waves a hand at him, motioning downward. Alright, that seems like a clue to not chop all the moving, rumbling trees down.

Ana walks into the center of the grove. Are those…leaves growing out of her arms? And yet, even with the bark and the leaves, she is the most elf-like one in the grove. As the Sylvans move and rumble, they make no effort to have an elf-like appearance. Vena is the strange one here, he realizes, with his flesh and lack of leaves.

When Ana stops moving, the air changes and not for the better. Vena grips the axe, the weight reassuring him even as the foreboding sense in his gut worsens. Ana’s tone grows heated and she even makes a hissing noise at the Sylvans. There is little warning before she turns from the grove and starts walking to him. When she reaches the edge of the normal trees, her skin begins to return to normal, leaving the bark behind in a flurry of now red and gold leaves - the color of her hair.

“We’re leaving,” she says simply, walking quickly ahead of him. Vena blinks in surprise and glances back at the Sylvans. They’re returning to their original positions in that same eerie movement. He shudders then quickly turns to follow Ana.

“Are they going to help us?” He asks.

“No. They would rather wait and see what happens. They’re _reactionary._ ”

“Oh….” he doesn’t know what to say. She is upset and that is understandable given the circumstance, but the anger he senses seems…disproportionate.

“Did they say anything?” He asks, not sure how to phrase if they hurt her in some way that he can’t tell. He’s just an elf, he’s not used to all this forest magic stuff.

Ana’s back is rigid and when she turns to him, her green eyes are alight - with both indignation and hurt.

“Sylvans and Dryads used to live side by side. We’re very alike and many of the other creatures do not understand us. But then the war happened and we disagreed. The Dryads wanted to fight and help the dragons, we saw people like use being hurt. The Sylvans did not see it that way. They called us fickle like the flesh and slowly but surely moved themselves away from us and our fickle ways to protect themselves. They’re hypocrites, but they’re powerful, and that is why we came.” She stops walking and bites her lip.

“They called me fickle, said I was just like the other dryads and I was going to get myself chopped down, or poisoned. They used words I will not repeat.”

Vena frowns deeply, “Assholes.”

She snorts and flashes him a smile of gratitude only for it to disappear quickly into concern, “But…it is true that there are very few of us left.” Her eyes glow and he can see just how different she is right then, with some of the bark lingering by her eyes and leaves still composing most of her hair. But she is beautiful in the afternoon light, bathed in warm golden hues. Her eyes are alight with her anger, but also her pain.

“How many dryads are left?” He asks softly.

Her pain becomes more evident, “I don’t know,” she breathes, “but I have not seen another in twenty years.”

Vena feels himself deflate. Twenty years. She hasn’t spoken to someone like her in twenty years. He sets the axe down before pulling her into his arms. She comes easily, wrapping her small arms around him in return.

“We’ll find more dryads, Ana, I promise.” He doesn’t know if he will be able to keep his promise, but he is going to do everything he can to find another dryad. A living dryad, who can have tree bonding time with Ana.

She leans back to look up at him, “You would do that for me? But why?” Does she really need to ask?

He brushes some of her leaf hair away from her face, “Why did you heal me when you could have just left me to die?”

Her face scrunches up, “Because I was curious about elves, and men, I’ve never met one of you before.”

“Wait a minute, _curiosity_ is what saved me?”

“What did you think saved you?” She asks, chuckling.

“Because it was the right thing to do? That’s why I want to help you! And because…because,” he loses his ability to word, gesturing vaguely instead.

“That is very kind of you, Vena,” she says, placing her hands on his chest, “and I will gladly take you up on your offer.”

“Good, I was really going out on a limb there,” he grins, waggling his eyebrows, “get it? A _limb!_ ”

Ana rolls her eyes but her smile widens.

**

Selene watches Dirthamen’s chest rise and fall with his breaths. It is miraculous that he is alive, not surviving Falon’din’s attack but the attack on the Tower centuries ago. It was the last stronghold lost, the last of the grounds known to birth forth spirits that would become dragons.

Mythal and Elgar’nan had marched their forces to the Tower, knowing they had the advantage since the bulk of the opposition was with Glory toward the eastern forest. Only Selene and Des were at the Tower, both within their first century of dragonhood - when dragons are at their weakest. They had no command over their powers save for their basic breaths. Perhaps Selene was a bit more adept with flames, but it was no use.

_“Fly from this place!” The head researcher shouts from the balcony, staff in one hand a sword in the other._

_“We cannot just leave you!” Selene cries._

_“This place is doomed whether you stay or not - we need not lose more of you!” He says, fending off another soldier. He throws an electrified energy ball down and it explodes._

_“Selene, we have to go,” Des says, tail wrapping around her wrist to pull her with him._

_“I can’t leave here! I can’t leave Longing,” she replies, feeling the tenuous bond that has begun to tether her to the spirit._

_“We will protect them! But we cannot protect you too!”_

_“Selene!” Des says. But they don’t understand, she has to -_

_“AAAH!” She roars as excruciating, burning pain seizes her. It is the feeling of bones breaking, tendons snapping, skin being torn from bone and yet she remains physically intact._

_No!_

_“Longing!” She cries, knowing the pain she feels is their demise._

_“We have to go! Now!” Des tugs on her arm. With all the regret in the world, she leaves with him…_

When Selene returned to the Tower, it had been filled with death. The bodies of the researchers were everywhere, and Selene took care to bury them all, mourning each of them. Worse than any of their deaths was finding the small shard in the library. It was dark, barely held any of Longing’s life.

She had always wondered why she only found this one shard when she knew they had shattered. But now she knows - Longing hadn’t shattered, the shard was what was banished from them before they were bound to the body of a baby.

Selene holds the shard now, wondering if she should tell him. Part of her doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want him to hate her for not looking for him. But these are his memories, his past, they’re rightfully his.

If he wakes up.

 _When_ he wakes up.

He really is beautiful, she thinks. He may have taken a body unwittingly against his will, but he seems to have made the most of it. He has survived with Mythal and Eglar’nan as sick versions of parents, and he found her again didn’t he?

That’s another thing - maybe he was drawn here? Just as she felt an inability to kill him. Their new bond may have been prematurely severed when he was a spirit but there was still…something there for recognition.

She could laugh at the absurdity. She had been feeling _guilty_ over falling in love with Dirthamen, that she had already had her love and couldn’t protect them. Then he came back, wandering to the Tower and by association her.

He takes a deep breath and she holds hers, both anticipating and dreading his waking. Of course, she wants him to wake up, to know that he really is fine after his ordeal. But she is dreading telling him the truth. He’ll hate her, and it will be the end of it. She just wants a few more moments where he doesn’t hate her, where she can pretend they’re going to be together.

It is an hour later before his face scrunches up and his body stretches as he begins to rouse from the Dreaming. His eyes, only two at the moment, slowly open. Dirthamen furrows his brow as he makes a noise of discomfort. Selene is quick to lean down by his cot, helping to prop him up into a sitting position.

“How are you feeling?” She asks.

“Odd,” he says after settling against the pillows once more. He raises his hand to look at the long claws protruding from his fingers. He flinches away from them.

He is unnerved by his own appearance? Well, of course he is, he hasn’t seen the myriad of shapes he has taken over the last few days as he’s healed. Selene reaches out and gently takes his hand, not shying from his claws.

“That is to be expected, you went through an ordeal. Do you know what has been done?” Deceit and Fear have remained close to Dirthamen, sometimes sleeping or hibernating as if they were trying to commune with him in the Dreaming.

Dirthamen shakes his head though, then winces again.

“Does your head hurt?” She asks, already waving her hand to dim the lights in the room.

“A bit,” he replies. He skin takes on a slightly purple hue then, making the blue of his eyes almost glow.

With her free hand, she brushes his hair away from his face, “When your brother attacked you, it caused great emotional turmoil in you. Great enough to create two spirits - Deceit and Fear. I suspect you had been feeling these emotions for quite some time for them to form that night. But when your injuries proved to be grave, you tried to bring them back inside of you, to give you their energy. It kept your alive, but three spirits cannot survive in one body, it’s too much. Deceit and Fear didn’t have the ability to separate themselves from you without assistance, so I called in a friend who helped to separate them from you and give them bodies while they built up enough strength to be without them. You are all still connected, I am not sure to what degree, but there is connection.”

Dirthamen watches her while she speaks, absorbing the new information. After a long moment, he glances down at his hand once more, “My condition has not been cured.”

“Your magic has been fully activated, and with Deceit and Fear outside of you but tethered to you…from what I have read and seen, it makes maintaining one consistent shape difficult. I do not find it unpleasant, if it is any consideration, and neither did my friends. We are all very accustomed to magic, even magic like this.” He will be safe here, even he hates her, he will have a place to be without fearing what those who are unaccustomed to magic will think of him.

He blinks at her and a small hesitant puff of surprise rises from him, “I look monstrous and it does not bother you?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Havw my draconic features ever bothered you? I can recall several instances where it did _not_. And you are not monstrous, I have seen monsters, Dirthamen, and you are not one of them. Your magic is rare and beautiful, I find it beautiful - find _you_ beautiful.”

“Oh,” he breathes, leaning forward just a bit in a gesture she knows to mean he is wanting a kiss. She sees no reason to not give it to him, one last kiss before she ruins it all.

Selene cradles his head as she kisses him slowly, letting her lips glide over his. She indulges in him, letting herself enjoy it one last time.

When it ends, she kisses his forehead then pulls away, unable to conceal her nervousness.

“Selene?”

“I have something to tell you,” she whispers, her throat feeling tight, “you were not always Dirthamen.”

He tilts his head slightly, “I suppose my birth parents gave me a name before my mother and father did.”

This time, _her_ brow furrows, “What?”

“I was adopted,” he says, “Mother and Father found me in the woods along with my brother. We were abandoned.”

What a horrible lie to tell!

“No! That is…Dirthamen, please let me explain. You were not found as a baby in the forest - you and Falon’din were _spirits_. You were spirits that were born here at the Tower. You were Longing and he was Purpose. I…I knew you. Then one day, Mythal and Elgar’nan attacked and everyone thought you and Purpose died.” She cannot keep the pain from her voice.

“You knew me?” Dirthamen asks softly.

She nods, “Yes. We…we were together.” His expression turns contemplative, thinking about how they were together? Spirit and embodied relationships are rare, even back then when the world was less harsh towards magical creatures. They made it work, and Longing in time grew to want a body. They were on the cusp of it, as was Purpose, when Mythal and Elgar’nan attacked.

“I remember being a child,” he says, “when spirits take on bodies they do not turn into children.”

“No, that is what makes this situation so odd. Mythal and Elgar’nan must have bound you somehow into the body of a baby.”

He takes a deep breath, “I…am having a difficult time seeing how this is possible.” Selene nods, this was foreseeable. She leans away and picks up the shard, it reacts to Dirthamen’s close proximity, glowing as if with anticipation.

“This is a shard that broke from you when I had thought you died. It is yours, by rights. I believe it contains memories of who you were before you were bound.” She passes it to him.

When it touches his skin he gasps and it lights up brighter than it ever has before - the same blue color as his eyes.

“It feels familiar. How do I access the memories?” He asks and she guides him to hold the shard over his heart.

“Using a shard is using your magic to extract its energy. So gently reach inside and pull it to you.” He lays his hand atop hers over the shard. His magic is a low hum that gradually grows until it is moving into the shard. It cracks but she can feel the rightness of it. Dirthamen stares at it, the glow from the shard beginning to take over his eyes.

He pushes deeper into the shard, searching until finally it shatters and sinks into him with a rush. Dirthamen’s eyes go wide as he gasps. Tiny lights break out along his skin, all glowing blue as the knowledge of who he was suffuses him once more.

Deceit and Fear flap their metal wings, making noise as they must feel it too.

Long moments stretch by before Dirthamen turns his gaze back to Selene, now with an extra set of eyes peering up at her.

Indescribable emotion bellows from him, engulfing Selene, that is captured with a single word, “ _Devotion._ ”

Emotion that she did not realize she was holding back comes rushing forward, but it’s over, he must hate her now knowing that she didn’t even look for him. Yet, he reaches for her, longing suffusing everything around him - longing for… _her_?

“I don’t understand,” she says, “don’t you hate me?”

He blinks, taken aback, “Why would I hate you? I love you.”

Tears begin to slide down her face, “I didn’t look for you. All this time you were bound to this body, being hurt by those people and I did _nothing_.”

“You saved me from Falon’din,” he says, “you unlocked my magic and gave me my memories - Selene, how could I hate you for that? You thought I was dead, there was no reason to look for me. And if you did, my family would have killed you. I prefer this outcome much more.”

She does not deserve his forgiveness but she is selfish enough to take it. She leans down, wrapping herself around him, burying her face in his hair, letting her love for him as he was and who he is flow freely from her.

**

Searching for fairies has never been Des’s favorite past time. He much prefers the celebration _after_ the fairies are found, particularly when it involves the hedonistic Shadow Court.

Alas, he needs to locate Vitality. A full court will not formally ally for such a plan to rescue the princess, the risk is too high, but outsiders are a different matter. They can be convinced much more easily.

Finding Vitality is a tricky thing, as is finding most individual fairies. Even though he scryed for her before leaving, it only gave him a general area of where she is. Thankfully he can track her magic since he has dealt with her before. She is a rare sight, truly, keeping to the fringes of all societies, but that doesn’t mean much these days. Everyone has turned away from societies since groups are easier to find than individuals.

Currently, he is in the form of a cat, stalking through the long blades of grass until he comes to a small mole hill. Interesting, he can’t scent any actual moles within the hole. He sits and claws a small rune into the dirt. When he steps onto it, he shifts into his elven form - it shrinks him down until he is the size of a fairy. And what do you know! The entrance to the hole is enchanted to look open, but there is a small wooden door that is carved with a dozen warding runes.

“Knock, knock, Vitality! It is I!” He says.

“I am not home,” a voice echoes from the door. Another enchantment. He gazes down at the crystal dangling around his neck, it glows brightly recognizing the fairy inside.

“I rather doubt that. I simply wish to talk!” He says and after a moment, an opening in the door slides open revealing sharp golden eyes.

“You know it is unwise to lie to a fairy,” she says low.

“When has anyone accused me of being wise?” He asks instead, flashing her a smile. She sighs then shuts the opening. There is a snap of magic before the door opens and she gestures for him to enter.

“Whatever you have come to ask for, I only have one price,” she says once the door is closed.

“Right to business? Here I thought we could catch up, I hear the courts have been in a bit of upheaval.”

“What would you know, living a continent away? You are near the Moon and Sun courts, far from our quartet of annoyance.”

“I’m a nosey dragon, what can I say? And you know Sun Fairies, those gossips.” He falls onto an array of pillows while Vitality sinks into her own repose.

“You know I do,” she replies. The former Sun Fairy would know all about it, but he did not come here to gossip about the courts unfortunately.

“Very well, to business. A spirit touched woman has been captured by the Lady Andruil and Adannar, friend to all, seeks to free her. They’re lovers, you see, and he is quite eager to retrieve her from Andruil’s evil clutches.”

Vitality tilts her head to the side in the way fairies do that makes it seem like they are seeing much more than they let on, “Why does this concern me?”

“Because her power is telekinesis - imagine the destruction Andruil could wreak if she could harvest the power.” He did _not_ want to imagine the destruction, but really his investment was more due to Adannar. He never wanted his old friend to look at him like that, like Des had destroyed everything good with the world. Like Selene had when he had pulled her from the Tower and later told him to return to their home without her, because she had to keep Longing’s memory and she couldn’t do that if Des was there.

“No,” Vitality says, pulling Des from his reverie.

“Oh come now, if she is not rescued -

“You are here, which means you are with Selene, and Adannar is involved. Three dragons working together to take one girl back? I would not be surprised if you are seeking out others to assist you as well - that is significant power you already have. You don’t need me.”

Des raises an eyebrow, “Andruil is one of the most famed dragon hunters, she has killed twenty-six of us. Twenty-six, Vitality. There is nothing to say she will not be able to kill Selene, Adannar, and I with ease. What we need is power to help bolster us, you need not take risk, just grant us something to assist us in this quest. We must take the princess back from Tavathan -

“Tavathan?” Vitality interrupts, her interest suddenly piqued. Interesting.

“Yes, our scrying has revealed that Serahlin has been taken to Tavathan.” What interest could a fairy have in Tavathan? By all accounts the elven town is unremarkable save for the location of one of Andruil’s castles and a flourishing sheep population.

“I cannot leave the forest,” Vitality says, “but I can grant you something to use in your pursuit. In return, you will be bound to deliver something for me.” She rises and moves to what must be her alchemy room. Pouches organized by color fill the shelves. Vitality picks up two dark blue pouches and hands them to Des.

“Fairy dust?” He asks wryly. She shoots him a reproachful look.

“Some call it that. It is the energy of the Dreaming made physical. The dwarves have their lyrium, we fairies can mine the Dreaming in other ways. It will enhance your magicks, you will simply need to direct it. I will grant you two pouches if you swear to deliver this pouch,” she hefts a burgundy pouched laced with gold thread, “and this letter, magically sealed, to a young man by the name of Athralan in Tavathan. You must deliver it in secret, no one must know you delivered it.” Magic swirls around Vitality’s hand as she offers it to him.

Des considers it for a moment - what she is asking is not exactly difficult to do. But _why_ does she want this done? He will not free a dragon hunter if that is who this Athralan is.

“I only have one stipulation - does this Athralan pose a past, current, or future threat to dragons or any other magical creature? If he does not, I will do as you ask.”

Vitality gives him a sad smile as she shakes her head, “He poses no past, current, or future threat to any magical creature as far as I am aware. You may not know anything else about him.”

Des clasps her hand, “It’s a deal.”

**

Aili wakes to Mother’s servant shoving the drapes open, harsh light suddenly spilling into the room. She flinches into her pillow, muttering about it being too early. What is the point of having a royal mother if she can’t even sleep in a little?

Edra, the servant, accustomed to this, shucks the covers off of Aili.

“Mmnooo,” she groans, blindly reaching for the blankets. The outside is cold! When the blankets don’t turn up, she pulls her hair over her shoulder - in its thick nightly braid - and mutters a small warming spell.

“Lady Aili,” Edra sighs, “must we do this every time?”

Aili groans and sits up, “No. I was just…up late” It’s always her excuse when she goes to see Uthvir, which is more often than not if she can get away with it - and she usually can. Edra gives her a look but doesn’t say anything. As antagonistic their morning relationship is, Edra is probably the closest thing to a friend Aili has who isn’t Uthvir. She doesn’t say much to Mother and will sneak her new books from time to time along with little apple pastries from the kitchens.

The morning routine picks up after her waking - Edra dresses her and then the Groomers, as Aili calls them, arrive. They help brush out Aili’s hair, making sure not to say a single word during the entire hour procedure. Anything whispered over The Hair could result in Magic and that is Reserved for Her High Highness, also known as Mother.

Two-hundred seventy years of this and it has gotten old. The first thirty years, Aili made almost weekly attempts to escape. Then Uthvir arrived and well….

_A roar echoes up from the depths of the castle, rocking even Aili’s library in the tower. Curious, and slightly wary, she sets her book down and goes in search of the roar. Most days at the castle are terribly dull, but not today!_

_She makes her way to the courtyard, formally a quiet and beautiful picturesque landscape now covered in scorch marks and weird lingering shadows that unsettle her. Intrigued, Aili follows the shadows and scorch marks down to the dungeon, keeping to the shadows herself. She’s gotten good at not being seen in the castle, keeping her feet bare to make no noise and her small frame keeping her unseen. What she sees now makes her eyes widen in shock, fear, and…heartbreak?_

_What must be a full company of soldiers hold chains that are attached to a_ dragon _. An actual, real live dragon that is still struggling against the chains. It roars and it fills Aili’s small body with a reverberation._

_How did Andruil manage this? To kill a dragon is one thing, but to capture one…._

_Giant wings unfurl and beat, trying to propel the dragon away from the soldiers. It succeeds for a moment before an exasperated looking Andruil grabs a terrible machine and launches a spike that drives through the left wing._

_The dragon roars again, this time in pain. Sharp, excruciating pain lances through Aili’s shoulder making her scream. Andruil’s gaze turns from the dragon to Aili. Blood gushes from the wound and Aili sinks to the ground, sobbing in pain._

_What is happening? She reaches back, expecting there to be a stab wound or something, but her back is untouched._

Aili was taken to the healers after her outburst. Andruil had shouted at Sylaise about Aili’s apparent interference. Aili had sobbed for days over the dragon’s capture. Despite the pain, she remained curious.

_The pain has finally faded enough for her to return to the dungeon. She slips inside behind an unknowing guard. The dungeon has been completely redone to house the dragon - what once housed roughly twenty cells now only had one - and it housed the dragon._

_Not that it requires the large cell with the chains keeping it tied to the ground. Her heart clenches at the sight of such a proud creature captured like this. It’s not right. Some part of her recognizes that dragons belong in the sky, not in the earth._

_Their eyes find her and where she should feel terror at them - their sharp teeth and spines that circle the crown of their head - all she feels is her heart ache in sympathy. They belong here even less than she does._

_A horrid scab has formed over their wing injury._

_She carefully moves toward them. They pull their lips back revealing even more terrifying rows of sharp teeth. Aili swallows back her fear. They’re more afraid here, she thinks. The elves here have only hurt them._

_“My name is Aili,” she says softly, “I think I can help you.”_

_They move away from her, or at least they try to move but the chains are too firm to allow them much of any movement. But the intention is clear - they don’t want her near them. That’s fine, but she doesn’t feel like she should leave them alone either._

_Over the next week, Aili takes any free time she can in the dungeon next to the dragon. She knits, she reads, she braids her hair and sings soft little songs. At the end of the week, after the guards are pulled away to tend to some other matter, the dragon exhales._

_“My name is Uthvir.”_

_She smiles brightly at them, “It’s nice to meet you, Uthvir.”_

As the groomers brush out her hair, Aili thinks about Uthvir slowly warming up to her. How eventually they allowed her to touch them and then even wrap her hair around their mangled wing to heal them. By then the damage had been done and there wasn’t so much to be done other than to alleviate the pain. They had slept after that, holding her close to them, nose buried in her hair, exhausted from the sudden release of pain.

She took to reading to them, singing to them, telling them about her life and them telling her about the world out there.

_“I have not seen much,” they confess one night. “I am young to this body, and sometimes it is difficult to remember what being a spirit was like. It feels…distant here.”_

_“I know,” she replies, “I know I have parents out there, real parents, but it’s hard to remember their faces or their voices.”_

They’ve bonded and she isn’t about to escape without them. When the groomers leave, Mother makes an unusual appearance, looking as disturbingly beautiful as ever.

“Daughter,” she greets with a hollow smile.

“Good morning, Mother,” Aili replies with a curtsy.

“How are you this morning?” She asks in an attempt to sound actually interested in Aili’s life.

Aili resists the urge to shrug, “Fine. I could use a new book, though.” She had read through the new ones three times already.

Mother nods, waving at Edra, “Put in an order for more.”

“How are you?” Aili asks, returning the appearance of politeness.

“Quite well, in fact. I had this lovely little idea,” she says, pouring a cup of tea for herself, “how would you like to take a little trip with me? See some of the countryside?”

Is…is she serious? Aili nods quickly, “I would love that! Yes -”

 _Uthvir_.

She stills her tongue and tries to think. As much as she wants to leave this accursed castle, she doesn’t want to leave Uthvir.

“How long would this trip be?” She asks in a more rational voice.

“Around two weeks,” she replies. It does not seem like a long time to Aili, but she has grown accustomed to seeing Uthvir on a near daily basis. She doesn’t want them to feel like she just…abandoned them.

“May I think about it?” She says. Mother’s face remains unchanged but Aili knows this was not the answer she was expecting.

She cracks a smile anyways, “Of course. Let me know by tomorrow morning. The party is departing in five days. I have duties I must tend to now. It is so good to see you, my dear.” She cups Aili’s face and for a second Aili thinks genuine affection glints over Sylaise’s features. But it is gone as quickly as it arrives.

“I will see you at dinner?” Aili asks and Mother nods. Every now and then, it strikes Aili that had she not known her real parents, known she was taken from them because of her magical hair, that she may have liked Sylaise. May have seen her as an actual mother instead of a kidnapper who fancies herself a mother instead.

Sylaise nods, “Of course.” She leaves Aili feeling conflicted but excited. The opportunity to get out of the castle and see the world? It’s only what she has dreamed of! But for the last two hundred odd years, she thought she would be doing that with Uthvir one day.

_“I’ll bust us out one day,” she says, leaning against them late one night._

_“Evidence points to that being extremely unlikely.”_

_“I don’t care, I’m going to do it. We’ll be free one day, Uthvir, I promise.”_

She spends the rest of the day waiting for after dinner when she can sneak away to the dungeon to see her dragon. Uthvir, she means, not _her_ dragon of course.

Dinner is uneventful and she worries that her restlessness is clear.

“Have you reached a decision yet?” Sylaise asks and Aili shakes her head.

“I think I need to sleep on it.”

“Very well.” There is an edge to Sylaise’s words and Aili knows that she is acting outside of her Mother’s plans. Which is never an advisable course of action. Still, Aili keeps to the course. She just needs to talk to Uthvir about this, know that they’ll be fine if she goes away for a couple of weeks.

Part of her feels guilty for even thinking about this.

 _Just some time outside! For once!_ Another part cries. She feels so torn! Why can’t she just…take her dragon friend with her? And then they can escape and live happily away from this castle?

Dinner ends and Aili is quickly squired away back to her tower. She waits a half hour as usual before lowering herself down on the dumbwaiter to the kitchens. She sneaks out of the small space and into the kitchen, ducking down out of sight.

Alright, time to grab the meat. She doubts Andruil is off of her starvation kick. Aili wishes she could bring more to Uthvir, but it is already suspicious that so much meat continues to go missing.

A glance at tomorrow’s rolls has Aili thinking of Serahlin. Andruil probably hasn’t fed her either, the sick woman. Aili grabs a few rolls and even sneaks a left over meat pie into a basket. Satisfied with her haul, she scurries into the back larder and starts removing the loose stones in the floor.

She pokes her head into the hole, waiting to see her friend to lower her down…Uthvir isn’t there. Oh no. Dread fills her stomach as she sticks her head through the hole. They’re not in the corner sleeping and the gate is closed. Aili swallows down worry and anger at whatever injustice Andruil is committing against Uthvir.

Her new issue is how to get down without Uthvir. She wiggles down further through the hole she’s made, leaning down so that only her hips are keeping her aloft on the floor. She turns around and spots Serahlin curled up on the cot, watching the gate.

“Psst!” She says, angling herself to get Serahlin’s attention. The other woman glances up, pink eyes glowing in the dark.

“Lower me down?” She asks.

Serahlin stands up from her cot and walks to the center of the room, then shakes her head. “I am not tall enough and they took Uthvir away a few hours ago. There have been terrible noises from down the hall.”

Burning anger bubbles up within Aili and it takes all of her willpower to not just jump down and dash to find Uthvir.

_“I am the princess here!” She yells at the guards._

_“This is Andruil’s quarry, you best run along,_ princess _, before I inform your mother of exactly where you spend your time.” The hunter is a snarling, loyal shit of a man. But he also has a point that has her scowling but backing off. It’s not over, it’ll never be over until they’re both free._

Aili bites her lip, thinking.

“Use your magic!” She says.

Serahlin’s eyes wide and she shakes her head quickly, “No. I have only ever hurt people with it.”

And Aili is trying to not injure herself here. She looks over to the cot and points, “Bring that over, please?”

“You can’t mean to jump down onto it?”

“If you won’t lift me down, and if Uthvir isn’t here, then yes. I need to get down there!” Whatever damage she does to herself, she can heal with her hair anyways. Serahlin pauses before sighing and going to grab the cot. Aili tosses the large bag of meat for Uthvir down first. Serahlin grimaces at it, but she moves it to the side before positioning the cot underneath the hole.

Aili takes a deep breath, holding the small bag of food for Serahlin to her chest, she jumps down feet first. The cot is unforgiving as it rocks from her weight. All the breath leaves her body and pain radiates up from her legs.

“Ow!” She hisses, quickly moving her hair over her shoulder to bundle herself. Through tears she begins her chant, stuttering over the words the first time. When the worst of the pain abates, she is able to heal herself better.

 _“…what once was mine…”_ she sings one more time. She sighs in relief as the pain dissipates.

“That was bracing, here,” she hands the bag of food to Serahlin, “got you food.”

“Thank you,” Serahlin says before tearing into the food. Andruil is definitely up to her tricks with the starvation.

After Serahlin finishes her food, they get to moving the cot back into the corner along with the meat. They need to make sure they’re not caught by the guards. Serahlin turns her nose up at the meat, flinching at the sounds it makes as it moves in the bag. Aili admits that it’s not pleasant moving the meat, but she doesn’t think starvation is particularly pleasant either. So the meat stays for Uthvir.

But Uthvir is not brought back until an hour later, moving painfully slowly.

 _No!_ Aili steps forward, only to have Serahlin jerk her back, hand clamping over her mouth.

“You’ll help them more by not getting caught!” Serahlin whispers fiercely in her ear. Aili knows this, but it is so difficult to watch the guard haul the gate open and command Uthvir to return to their cell while another guard reconnects their chains. Blood is oozing from wounds on their body, but they do not collapse until the guards have retreated, gate closed behind them. A moment later Serahlin releases Aili.

She rushes to Uthvir, hurriedly unbraiding her hair to throw over Uthvir’s body.

“Help me wrap them!” She calls. Serahlin joins her and together they work to drape Aili’s hair over Uthvir’s mid-section, where their injuries are worst. Blood soaks through her hair but she doesn’t care, she just needs them to heal.

Once the hair is draped, she starts her song, singing it over and over again until Uthvir sighs.

“That is enough,” they say, more exhaustion than pain in their voice. Aili and Serahlin pull the hair back, leaving it loose so Aili can wash it later.

“Are you sure?” Aili asks softly, moving up to their face. She runs a soft hand against their brow.

“Yes. I smell food, that will help the most.” She wants to beg to differ, but holds her tongue. They do need food, she can get it for them. She dashes over to the meat and drags it to them. It is a testament to their exhaustion and recovery that they didn’t simply move for it.

“What did they do to you?” Serahlin whispers.

Uthvir growls but doesn’t answer. Instead they begin to eat, their longue tongue sneaking out and draggins the meat to their sharp teeth. Aili takes a seat by their head, her hand petting them reassuringly.

“Weapon’s testing,” Aili murmurs. Serahlin’s eyes widen but she thankfully doesn’t say anything. Uthvir growls again but says nothing as they continue to eat. Aili glances over their body. Their wounds have healed over and new scales catch the low light, shining brighter than the older scales. There are a lot of new scales.

Serahlin rises from the cot and holds her hand out over it.

“What are you doing?” Aili asks. Serahlin’s back is straight and determination is written all over her face. The cot _jerks_.

“I am going to make this work, and then we’re getting out of here,” she casts a look to Uthvir and her eyes _flair_ with emotion, “all of us are getting out of here.”

**

It is late when Aili leaves the dungeon with great reluctance. She hates to leave Uthvir when they’re like this. She feels like she needs to do another healing session with them, but she already pushed her luck with two. Whenever Andruil tests her sickening toys on them, they retreat from her and everything. Touch is unbearable, understandably so.

The night drew on and sleep threatened more and more until Uthvir nudged her.

“Go to bed,” they urged.

For once, she listened. It is so late it is early and she still needs wash their blood from her hair. She slips into the bathing chamber on her way back to bed chamber. Exhaustion makes her body feel ten times heavier. Aili hefts her hair into the basin and begins to rinse her hair. The water runs red for several minutes. Once she is certain no one will notice anything different about her hair, she shuts the water off and starts her trek back to her bed.

She is halfway up the stairs when she hears familiar voices. Curiosity perks her up and she follows the sounds to a small room. Aili presses herself against the wall next to the closed door, listening for who is inside.

“She did not jump at the opportunity like you suggested, sister.” Mother’s voice? Sister? She’s talking to Andruil, but what -

“She will. Caged animals long for freedom.” They’re talking about _her_ , Aili realizes. Andruil suggested getting out of the castle? She had decided against after seeing how hurt Uthvir is. She can’t leave them now, and not after Serahlin’s wonderfully disturbing telekinesis practice. By the time Aili had left, she had thrown the cot clear across the cell against the wall.

“You are not always right, sister, I have a mirror if you need a reminder,” Sylaise in a biting tone.

“Careful, sister, lest your own curse show its face,” Andruil snaps. Sylaise is cursed? Andruil’s curse was more commonly known in the keep, but this is the first Aili has heard of Sylaise’s supposed curse.

_“Sing to me, little Aili, your song is so beautiful,” Mother asks as she runs the brush through Aili’s hair._

_“Flower gleam and glow….” Aili sings making her mother sigh. Magic fills the room. She comes back the next day, asking for the song._

“I need to get the girl to the grove by the full moon. The texts are clear that is when the magicks are at its height. Which means we need to leave _tomorrow_ if we will make it in time.”

“Then make her! It’s not like you have not done so before!”

“It doesn’t work that way! I need a willing sacrifice for the magic to work. Once I have her power, I will be free of the curse and I can assist you with your own.” A willing sacrifice? Her power?

Aili clamps a hand over mouth to stifle her cry. She runs from the door as quickly and quietly as she can before she is discovered. She bounds into her room, her heart racing in fear. She never knew why Sylaise wanted her, never knew why the princess of Elvhenan had taken interest in some girl from the country. She always knew it had to do with her hair, but this…she couldn’t have predicted this.

Sylaise means to sacrifice Aili and steal her power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


	13. The Dragon and the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adannar leads Serahlin's rescue mission.

“I hate this plan,” Selene says, frowning deeply at everyone.

“It’s for the best, we can’t both be on the field,” Des argues. He’s right, it’s too dangerous for them to be the battlefield at the same time, it’s why this plan was proposed in the first place. If one of them were to be killed or incapacitated, it has a high chance of doing the same to the other.

The scowl does not lessen, however.

“Des is better at illusions and we will need a massive one to distract all of the soldiers in the castle,” Adannar says softly. It feels bad to tell her this, even though it is true. Selene can create illusions, but her gifts lie in quick battle strikes and healing. In an actual battle, she would be the better choice, but this is a mock battle. Des will be creating a horde of attacking mercenaries with the added strength of the fairy dust Vitality gifted him. They need a show and that is what Des does.

“I like this plan,” Dirthamen says, “it keeps you safe.” She gives him a long adoring look before shaking her head.

“It puts those I love in jeopardy and they expect me to sit back -

“We expect you to keep the home base safe!” Des scoffs. He gestures to Dirthamen. “Falon’din could come looking for his brother at any point.”

Selene crosses her arms, clearly not liking Des’s reasoning. Adannar understands, he wouldn’t want to sit back either, but the risk is too high. Any number of things could go wrong. While he wants as much firepower as possible to go get Serahlin, they all need to be practical - sending everyone in just risks more than what they could potentially achieve. Selene is a terrifying opponent on the battlefield, and he has no doubt that she will return to it one day, but today is not that day.

It takes a bit more convincing, but Selene eventually, grudgingly, accepts that she needs to remain at the Tower. Dirthamen is pleased and even moves to hold her hand.

After they convince Selene to remain with Dirthamen and the ravens, they return to hashing out the details of the assault. The plan is fairly simple, but there are plenty of places where things could go awry.

“Ana will create a thorny vine barrier around the perimeter of the castle,” Vena clarifies, drawing a finger around the castle diagram they have on the table. She nods then frowns.

“That is a lot…it will take some time,” she murmurs, and by the look on her face, ‘some time’ may be more significant than what it suggests.

“What if you took one of the fairy dust pouches? I doubt Des needs both for weaving his illusion,” Adannar points out.

“That would certainly make things easier,” Ana says. Des tosses her one of the pouches, then clearly ties the other one tighter to his belt.

“Des will create an illusion of attacking mercenaries, no banners, to draw the castle soldiers out into the open. They will have to be very convincing, Des,” Vena points to a spot close to the vine barrier that is directly in front of the castle’s main gate. He drags his fingers to demonstrate the “assault” Des will lead.

“Once the soldiers are drawn out, Ana will close off their return with another vine wall. How long would it take to make one that would span…just under two hundred yards?”

“Ten minutes. Des will need to keep them engaged for that long.”

Everyone frowns at that. An illusion is great and all, but it’s hard to keep an entire force of soldiers occupied once they realize their attacking force is well, not real.

“What if I corralled them with fire? I wouldn’t need the dust, fire is second nature to me,” Des offers, drawing his own finger across the diagram. Smoke rises up as he singes the papers.

Vena shrugs, “However it gets done. Who is sabotaging the ranged weapons?”

“I am,” Anaris says, rubbing the heel of his boot where the trebuchets and whatever other ranged weapons the elves have conceived.

“Good. The drain to get into the castle is over here,” he points to a spot on the opposite end of the castle from the gate, “there is a small brook we will need to cross. If we can’t escape through the drain, Adannar will need to fly us out from the courtyard here.” There are technically two courtyards, but the one in question is the larger of the two and is central to the entire keep. There is enough room in this secondary courtyard that Adannar will be able to unfurl his wings and fly into the sky. At least, that’s what Vena believes. Adannar is holding onto that hope. If there isn’t enough room…he could always jump the courtyard walls and take off from there.

“Do we have any idea where Serahlin is being kept?” Des asks.

“Aren’t prisoners held in dungeons?” That’s what Adannar’s always thought. It’s what the elves have always mentioned when they’ve worried about being taken captive. Of course that was hundreds of years ago. Judging by Vena’s grim expression, Adannar isn’t correct.

“Not always,” is all Vena says, however.

“I could cast a tracking spell. But I will need something of Serahlin’s to complete it,” Anaris offers.

“I can pick something up from the cottage she stayed in,” Adannar replies, ignoring the way his heart clenches at the idea of returning to the cottage. It’s only been a couple of weeks since she ran from him and yet their time together seems so far. He longs for her now, but he holds no illusions that she will return that affection.

They nail down a few more details before agreeing to move forward with the plan. Adannar leaves to fetch an item of Serahlin’s for the spell. When he returns hours later, Vena has passed out in a bed with his head in Ana’s lap. She’s stroking his hair and humming an old dryad folk tune and every so often, Vena’s ear twitches, making Ana smile.

Selene and Des are also asleep, twined around each other in a cute sleepy dragon pile. He rumbles happily before lying down next to them.

Tomorrow, he will rescue Serahlin, perhaps just for her to leave him again. But for now, he can sleep and enjoy the comfort of his friends.

**

The illusion of mercenaries begins with Adannar rolling in very real fog to blanket the countryside. Visibility is reduced until he feels like it is safe to begin the trek to Tavathan. Neither him nor Des take their true forms to assail the tower, but rather remain in their elven shapes. Anaris remains perched on Adannar’s shoulder, reserving his energy for facing any issues they may face once they make it into the keep.

Adannar, Des, and Vena all sit upon constructed metal stags, with Anaris perched on Adannar’s shoulder. The stags are large beasts, once crafted to help carry the naturally bipedal magical creatures during the resistance. They have been in the forest, wandering as they please, only returning when Adannar beckoned them home for maintenance. In the time they have been away, their metal has changed from shining coppers and brass to soft green and dark hues. Hanging moss drips down from their antlers. Unlike Huirin and the other smaller deer, these creatures are silent as they move save for the plod of their hooves.

He imagines it’s quite the eerie sight to see three men riding on these large harts through an imposing fog that one seems to be commanding. But it also feels amazing to be using his magic again like this. After hiding for so long, Adannar has grown accustomed to feeling stifled and unable to flex any of his magic - and now here he is, able to roll the fog in still at his command.

Vena wipes at his forehead, “Didn’t realize fog could be hot.”

“It is when the fog is being cast by a dragon who breathes _steam_ ,” Des clarifies. Adannar’s a bit preoccupied focusing on keeping the fog dense to explain himself. “See, normal fog is just a cloud on the ground, but Adannar is heating the hair and commanding the water to coalesce with said hot air. This fog is kept together by magical steam. Feels lovely.”

“You’re a dragon, you breathe fire, this is…hard to breathe,” Vena says, breath clearly laboring. Adannar turns his gaze towards the man and waves a hand, allowing a pocket to form around Vena so he can breathe.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Adannar nods, still too focused to speak.

It is a slow crawl through the countryside of Tavathan. The sun is hanging low in the sky when they reach the village. They stop since Des must go complete his task for Vitality before using the powder. There will likely not be time afterwards to complete the task since they will be on the run from Andruil and her lackeys. The dragon turned elf hops off his hart and shrinks into the form of a fluffy cat before disappearing into the fog.

Twenty minutes later, Des returns looking no worse for wear. There is a peculiar look on his face as he retakes his elven form and mounts his hart once more.

“Anything of note?” Vena asks and Des shakes his head.

“Even if there was, I cannot say.” Another fairy promise then. Very well, Adannar can accept that though he does not know if the elf is so capable. This world of the forest and its creatures is still so new to him.

“Time to rescue the princess, hmm?” Des asks.

_Finally_ , Adannar thinks before urging his hart forward.

Tavathan is a large settlement geographically, but population wise it’s sparse. The village is sprawling due to the sheep fields and the hills that seem to belong to specific families. On the far eastern side, sitting atop several hills is a gigantic keep. There is a tower that rises above everything and on a cloudy day, the tip of the spire is shrouded by the clouds. Not as tall as the Glass Tower, but certainly impressive if no magic was used in its construction.

A brook separate the heart of the town and the keep. They cross it easily and Adannar commands the fog to creep into the castle’s grounds.

“Very good. Is Ana finished setting up that barrier?” Des asks referring to how Ana is tasked with creating a barrier of bramble thorns around the keep.

“I do not know, I do not see the brambles yet,” Vena says.

“I will check,” Adannar whispers, finally able to detach himself from the fog enough to tilt his head to the side to listen. Ana took a small mechanical blue bird with her that is temporarily mystically connected to him. It chirps that she still needs time just as he feels the earth begin to rumble.

The normally quiet harts make a whir of concern then move forward. The ground erupts behind them, tall vines reach toward the sky then curl down, sealing them all in the trap.

“Well, that certainly makes things complicated,” Des says. Once more, Adannar lifts his finger and connects to the bird.

_Tell her to open it for a minute where we are._ He asks. A moment later, the brambles part, allowing Des to slip out.

“Wonderful. I’m off, boys. One hundred distracting, assailing mercenaries coming right up.” He rides off into the fog, his hart once more silent.

Adannar tries to remain confident as he watches Des go, but it is difficult. Somewhere in this castle is Serahlin, but it also houses Andruil. He is not as powerful in combat as many of the dragons she has slain - what hope does he have if he is forced to face her? If he had any hope of defeating her, he would have to turn to strong magicks and vicious fighting styles that would make him appear as bestial as Serahlin fears he is. How could he to convince her to leave then? He pushes it from his mind and concentrates at the task at hand. These are hypothetical fears, giving them substance will only harm everyone.

“Anaris, please go sabotage any of the large long-range siege weapons,” he requests. The fairy salutes then disappears with a flit of magic. Vena stares at the spot where Anaris was standing and tries not to look overwhelmed.

“Magic can be a bit much for those unaccustomed,” Adannar says.

“Uh-huh, that’s one way of putting it. Can your birdie sense if Ana is doing alright?”

Adannar tilts his head again and listens, “She seems fine. A little tired from the magical expenditure, but fine. You seem fond of her.”

Vena shrugs, “She saved my life, I think that would instill fondness in anyone.” Adannar hopes Vena is right and perhaps Serahlin still holds some fondness for him inside her heart. He knows her trust is gone, but he hopes for fondness.

“I hear Princess Serahlin is quite beautiful,” Vena says after a long moment. Adannar nods and finds himself smiling wistfully.

“Beautiful is too common a description for her. She is radiant, lovelier beyond words,” he says, recalling her ink black hair, her soft pink eyes, the softness of her skin…

“There was a rumor that Princess Serahlin declined a hundred proposals before agreeing to marry Dirthamen.” The comment makes Adannar frown. He is not one for gossip, particularly the sort having to do with Serahlin. He rather doubts the authenticity of such rumors, especially if they were espoused at court. He may be a forest dwelling dragon, but he knows enough to know that there are more lies than truths murmured at court, more betrayals than friendships. It hurts his heart to think of Serahlin growing up in that environment. He knows it’s the reason for the walls around her heart, her natural guardedness. But even with growing up in such a place, she is kind and capable of such softness and love.

“I hope she never has to subject herself to court again,” Adannar says in a grave tone.

“From what I hear, Princess Serahlin was lauded at court. But can’t blame her for no wanting anything to do with it.” Vena shrugs but Adannar can’t shake the discomfort at the idea. Serahlin at court, excelling at the various machinations and plots. It’s not what he knows of her, but then again, she didn’t know a lot about him either.

They have much to discuss when this is all done.

Anaris reappears on Adannar’s shoulder, smelling of smoke.

“It is done. The lines in the trebuchets are snapped and Des is beginning to weave his illusion,” the fairy reports.

“Good, we wait for the signal then,” Adannar replies, shaking off the more negative emotions from his talk with Vena.

“What signal is that?” Asks the elf.

At once, shouts and cries of dismay echo from the castle. Anaris grins and Adannar feels a sick trepidation beat with his heart. _May I not have to kill anyone today._

“That signal, of course!” Anaris claps. Adannar tries not to sigh as he dismounts the hart. Vena follows suit as they begin their approach.

With the guards suitably distracted by Des’s illusion of assaulting mercenaries and Ana’s vine magic, the trio will be able to slip in, assume the identity of guards themselves, and then ferry Serahlin out. They have two, maybe three, hours to get in, find her, and get her out before alerting anyone.

Adannar has never been one for stealth, but now is a good a time as any to be silent.

Only minutes later do they come upon the drain Vena spoke of. It is large and circular, but there is an equally large metal grate guarding it from any would-be trespassers.

“You said it was unguarded, but I suppose that did not include a metal grate,” Adannar comments.

“You’re a dragon, can’t you just…yank it off?” Vena asks.

“It’s not that simple,” Adannar whispers, “I will have to semi-shift myself to harness the strength to do this. Stand back.” Anaris hops off his shoulder and onto Vena’s instead while Adannar grasps the grate and allows his true form to bleed through his current one.

It is not a comfortable process. In between states feel stuffy, all at once too big and too small, his limbs are not the correct size and his mind is simply screaming to just pick a size and stick with it. But his dragon form is too big and too conspicuous while his elven form is not capable of the strength necessary to pull the grate free. Skin turns into scales and nail lengthen into claws as he wraps his hands around the grate. He can feel his skull pound with magic as his horns extend back from his forehead. His back ripples and he wonders if his wings will make an unwelcome appearance.

Thankfully, his wings remained furled, keeping his robe in tact. His breeches are not so lucky as his tail rips through the back and falls heavily to the floor. Quickly, Adannar yanks on the grate, pulling it free from the stonework. As soon as he sees they are free to proceed, Adannar starts stuffing his true form back under his elven shape. He shudders and feels his draconic features recede until he looks just as elven as Vena.

“Let’s go,” Adannar says, or at least he means to say, it comes out more of a growl than anything. He clears his throat to make the dragon-y voice clear up.

“Let’s go,” he reiterates.

“That was incredible,” Vena states, still staring at Adannar.

“Thank you, Selene is better at it. You’ll see her with horns or scales, even a tail, while in an elven body - but it’s always felt…difficult for me.” He shrugs, the magic works in different ways for different dragons. His talent has never been in shifting his shape but rather creating his creatures. Selene is better at commanding her shape, but the best shape-shifting dragon Adannar had met was a former spirit of Mischief. They were a smaller dragon, not that much bigger than a moose, but they could shift into anything that had a heartbeat. Word of their talent reached Mythal and she had Falon’din hunt and kill them. When Glory saw the myriad of iridescent scales adorning Falon’din’s armor on the battlefield, they flew into a rage.

_Now is not the time,_ he reminds himself as he climbs into the drain -

“Sweet mercy!” He cries, hand slapping over his face. The _smell_.

“You brought us into a sewer drain?” Anaris drawls.

“As opposed to a nice unguarded entry point that doesn’t exist?” Vena snorts then winces as he draws more of the foul stench into his nostrils.

Even with the stench, it’s a good access point, and with Adannar’s connection to water, he’s able to keep the disgusting sewage away from them as they make their way through the drain. So much for hoping Serahlin would hug him when she sees him, he’ll stink too badly for that.

The drain is thankfully large enough that Vena and Adannar only have to bend at the hip to walk through. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s better than having to crawl. It’s the little things, really. They move through the sewer system for twenty minutes before they find an exit point.

“I’ll check,” Anaris volunteers. Adannar would argue but Anaris’s small size makes him the ideal one to scout ahead to make sure they’re safe. He leaps up the drain past the grate into whatever is above.

“We’re in the castle proper, I think,” Vena whispers, “probably near the kitchens, maybe the washroom.” Adannar sniffs the air. It doesn’t smell like food, but then again, he can hardly smell anything over the stench of the sewage.

A few minutes later, Anaris hops back down.

“Washroom up there, there are a couple of guards posted not far from it. They’ll make good marks.”

“Is there any way to remove the grate without having to yank it?” Adannar murmurs. Anaris reaches up and waves a hand over it.

“Yes, I will remove it.” with some fine tuned quick telekinesis, the grate pops open.

“Why didn’t we do that before?” Vena asks.

“That grate was fused shut - this one is designed to be able to open,” Anaris answers as they begin to climb up. Adannar tries not to think about what his hand is touching as he hoists himself up out of the drain and into the washroom. It’s a spacious room, filled with large basins and racks. It is open to a small courtyard that are filled with clotheslines, sheets and things waving with the wind.

Vena grunts as he heaves himself out of the sewer, nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench still permeating the room. They replace the grate once he’s out, then set to stalking the nearby guards. Anaris directs them out of the washroom and down the hall to the left. Around the corner is a door with two guards at the ready. Their weapons are drawn and Adannar wonders why they are here guarding a door while the rest of the castle is in a tizzy over the “attack.”

Adannar can hear the bustling soldiers running throughout the castle, their heavy footfalls surprisingly quick as they run out to the front to fortify the keep.

“I’ll put them to sleep but then you must be quick to get them, people are coming,” Anaris whispers before darting off. When the guards collapse, Vena and Adannar rush ahead and drag their bodies back to the washroom. They’re quickly stripped them locked into a closet full of cleaning supplies. Someone will hear them after this is all over and let them out. But for now, the risk is too great that they will wake and alert everyone to Adannar and Vena’s presence.

Swiftly, they don the uniform over their light underclothes. They came dressed for this, not wearing heavy over-clothes, the only exception being Adannar’s robe. With a quick murmured spell, the robe disappears back to his lair. It’s been spelled with him for so long, it doesn’t take much to command where it ought to be now.

Vena was right though, they are good sizes for guard uniforms. With the helmets on, no one can tell the truth. Now, to find the princess.

**

“What are you doing?! Unhand me!” Serahlin shouts, shoving a guard off of her. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but the castle is suddenly full of activity. Three guards came down to the dungeon and are now wrenching her from the dungeon. Ordinarily, she would love to leave such a horrid place. But Uthvir is here, and she is loathe to leave them, especially since Aili clearly won’t be able to escape from her room now.

“Castle’s under attack. Princess ordered us to get you to a more secure location,” the guard says before seizing her again. She tries to fight him but he hoists her up and carrie sher up the stairs. She could use her telekinesis on him, but it would spend precious energy. After working for days to build up her strength, she’s found she can’t keep it up indefinitely. Her power will feel weak and drained if she works it too much. And if the castle is under attack…she may just need it in a more dire situation.

Serahlin lets the guard carry her out of the dungeon. He sets her on her feet and this time she follows willingly. She doesn’t fancy being another prisoner to whoever is attacking the castle. But she has to wonder if this assailant is an ally or would be preferable company to the Princesses Andruil and Sylaise.

They are rushing by a long set of stairs when another cadre of guards rush down them. A short figure with long glowing hair is shrouded behind them. Aili! They must be moving her to this secure location as well! The guards merge into one group with Serahlin and Aili in the middle. They take each other’s hands as they run together. They are ushered down a long hallway and then into a room with a large tapestry. One of the guards pulls the tapestry to the side to reveal a peculiar looking metal door. It’s taller and narrower than the other doors, and even in the dark, it seems to radiate light. Markings are carved in circular patterns all over the door that begin to glow when a guard pulls it open.

Aili and Serahlin are unceremoniously shoved into the room. No guards enter with them.

“What is this?!” Serahlin demands. She can feel the glow in her eyes intensify as she glares at the guards.

“A room to keep you safe.” It is all he says before he shuts the door, leaving Aili and Serahlin alone. Under normal circumstances, Serahlin would be fascinated by the door and this room. It’s a beautiful, filled with plush furniture and tapestries. But today is no ordinary day.

“Who could be attacking?” Serahlin asks as she presses up against the door.

“I saw a large force from my tower - no banner. I heard a guard shout something about mercenaries,” Aili whispers. Mercenaries? Hm. Of all the people Serahlin had worried about, mercenaries were not one of them. They _could_ be after her, but that is only if her mother had discovered her location. Since Andruil seems rather invested in keeping Serahlin around for her own gain, she doesn’t think her or any of her staff informed one of Serahlin’s mother’s allies of Serahlin’s location. Not to mention she has only been her a few days - that is hardly enough time to get word all the way to Eletharan.

That means the mercenaries are here for some other reason, and what are two things all mercenaries have in common? A love for gold and fear for things they cannot kill.

“Our situation has changed, lady Aili,” Serahlin says, hardly able to keep her grin to herself, “we’re escaping this place, _today_.”

Aili’s eyes widen but it quickly gives way to a steely determination, “We’re not leaving Uthvir.”

“Oh no, they’re going to help us. What mercenary would brave a dragon?” Serahlin quips making Aili grin mischievously. Serahlin backs away from the door and takes a deep breath. Calming herself before using her telekinesis is critical for there to be any success. She extends her hand and focuses on the act of the door _opening_.

A loud _CLANG!_ Explodes from the door sending Serahlin flying across the room. She screams as her body is flung onto a couch. Fiery pain lances its way through her body, radiating from spine and down.

“Serahlin!” Aili cries.

Serahlin coughs and curls on herself. Before she knows what’s happening, something heavy is flung over her. When Aili begins to sing, Serahlin realizes what’s happening. Warmth and relief sinks into from Aili’s hair and soon she is sitting back up, moving the long hair off of her.

Serahlin rights her clothing and tries to keep the faith. The door is magically warded against anything opening it. They’ll just need to figure out something else.

Aili doesn’t seem as calm, however. She begins to pace, tugging at her hair. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of being stuck in this stupid place! Why does my power have to be _healing_ things?! You can move stuff with your mind and what do I get? Silly, glowing hair!”

“Aili, healing is a wonderful gift,” Serahlin argues but the princess is having none of it. She shakes her head, immense frustration and anger rising within her like an unstoppable wave.

“All it’s done is get me imprisoned. I can’t fight. I can’t do _anything_! I’m tired of sitting back while my friends get hurt!” Aili throws her hands down in a gesture of frustration, but in that movement, an inexplicable spark flies from her hands.

And promptly takes root in one of the tapestries on the wall. Aili gasps, eyes wide as the golden flame begins to grow and consume the fabric.

“Fire!” She exclaims, leaping from her seat with a pillow. She pats the fire and the fire dissipates, but the tapestry comes crashing down.

“I did that?” Aili whispers in equal measures amazement and horror.

“Congratulations, you are not quite as helpless as you thought - wait is that a door?” Serahlin was still making sure the fire is out when a dark spot on the newly revealed wall caught her eyes. She looks up and sure enough, there is a door - smaller and less fancy than the magical one they entered from, but a door still.

“Can we get that one open?” Aili asks but Serahlin is already working on it. Focusing herself once more, she gathers her power inside of her, picturing the door opening. The wood heaves then stops, remaining closed.

“It’s locked - maybe if you unlock it, we can get it open.”

“I don’t know how locking mechanisms work…” but there are hinges she can see. She imagines the screws in the hinges rising and falling out. The door groans and leans awkwardly as its support is taken away. With the hinges out of the way, Serahlin imagines the door bending itself until it snaps open. Wood cracks and snaps until there is an opening large enough for them to crawl through.

“Let’s go,” Serahlin declares before stepping over the broken door and into a dark lit hallway.

“I had no idea I could do that,” Aili whispers, giddy but nervous.

“It makes sense, my telekinesis was activated by fear - your fire was activated by frustration and anger.” Serahlin shrugs as they creep down the dark, narrow hall. It turns at odd angles and after the second or third turn, Serahlin realizes they’re curving around rooms. How interesting.

“We’re going to break Uthvir out of the dungeon and then we’ll get far, far from this place,” Aili declares with resounding determination.

“I know a place we can go,” Serahlin says softly. She hopes said place will still welcome her, or specifically, the person who resides there. Adannar surely would accept Uthvir and Aili at least, they haven’t wronged him like Serahlin has.

Once more she kicks herself internally for running away so soon. She didn’t hear him out. Yes, he explained himself, but she didn’t listen. For her entire life, she believed what was said about the dragons. That they’re greedy monsters who kill indiscriminately and it is only thanks to the dragon hunters that elven society still stands. Now she realizes how blind she was. Adannar was kinder to her than most elves have ever been. He made her feel things she never thought she could feel. And how did she repay his kindness and love? By calling him a liar when all he was doing was protecting himself from someone who could cause him irreparable harm then running away.

After escaping this place, Serahlin wants more than anything to apologize to him. She wants to hold his face and kiss him and tell him how wrong she was about his kind. How wrong she was about him.

Serahlin starts feeling along the walls for doors or windows. They find stairs first and quickly descend those. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs is a door. It too is locked, but Serahlin handles it the same way she did with the other door.

They step through the doorway into the castle proper. “Finally,” she whispers, taking Aili’s hand once more, “which way?”

Aili points to the right, “I think the dungeon is that way.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” How they’re going to bust Uthvir out, Serahlin doesn’t know, but she figures that Andruil had to get Uthvir into the dungeon _somehow_ and she rather doubts they willingly turned into an elf then walked into the cell. There has to be a gate or something that opens up to the surface. If they get that open, they can get Uthvir out and leave while the soldiers are preoccupied with the mercenaries. No one expects a dragon to randomly fly out from under you.

“Have you ever seen something that looks like a gate but in the ground? Probably in the courtyard, maybe even from the dungeon side?” Serahlin asks.

Aili nods, “Yes, but it hasn’t been used in hundreds of years, not since…you know.”

“That’s fine, I’ll blast it open and Uthvir will fly us out,” she whispers, lest a nearby soldier hears her.

“What?” Aili whispers back, “Uthvir can’t fly.”

Serahlin stops and turns to frown at Aili, “What do you mean, Uthvir can’t fly?” Dragons _fly,_ that’s what they do. And she knows Uthvir has wings, so - oh. Oh _no._

The rage in Aili’s face confirms Serahlin’s thoughts, “It was one of the first things Andruil did. She wanted them to know there was no escape. I do as much as I can to heal them, but it just helps with the pain.” Her fists clench and Serahlin knows that she is fighting that wave of feeling useless again. Quickly, Serahlin cups Aili’s face.

“This is a hitch, one we will overcome. A downed dragon is still a formidable opponent. They can run, or they can shift and we can steal horses and run away. We _will_ figure this out, we will escape.” The fury cools in Aili’s eyes and she takes a steadying breath. Good, they don’t need another accidental fire.

“The chains. We need to figure out a way past the chains -

Serahlin is about to propose finding the guard who holds the keys when she sees a tiny…person? He’s perched on a slight outcrop of stone wearing a devious smile. But his eyes are those of a cat and the two tails swishing behind him only confirm the strangeness of his appearance.

She swallows back a scream but cannot stop her eyes widening into saucers and pointing wordlessly.

“Wha-AH!” Aili starts to screech and Serahlin is quick to slap her hand over her mouth.

“Excuse me, but who, what, are you?” Serahlin does her best to keep her voice from wavering, but there is a tremble at the end that doesn’t quite sell it, so she raises her chin and turns on her imposing regal expression. The…person’s grin just widens.

“Hello, Princess. My name is Anaris and I am what your people call a fairy.”

“A -ai-y?” Aili asks throw Serahlin’s hand, incredulous. Serahlin can’t say she doesn’t share Aili’s sentiment. A fairy? Really? In this place?

“Yes. And I bring you a gift. Now stay right here.” And just like that, the fairy _vanishes_. Into thin air! Leaving Serahlin and Aili stunned into silence in a small alcove in the hallway.

**

“I found her! Down the hall there, keep to the left,” Anaris says, reappearing on Adannar’s shoulder. A thrill runs through Adannar. She’s found! He runs down the hall Anaris indicated, needing to confirm with his own eyes that she is alright.

He keeps to the left, Anaris murmurs she’s in an alcove, he turns -

_Serahlin._

She is as beautiful as the day she ran. Her hair is pulled up into a bun that is slowly coming undone and her dress is low and revealing in the Elvhenan style rather than her Elethari dress.

Her expression hardens and she steps in front of the elven woman she had been holding onto, “Step back! I won’t warn you again!” She hisses.

Oh right! He yanks his helmet off, golden hair slipping down his back and around his face. Serahlin stops, a wondrous expression replacing all hostility.

“Adannar?” She whispers in shock.

He cannot hold back the loving smile he has for her. He had been so worried and here she is, relatively unharmed.

“I’m here to get you out,” he says quickly because if he doesn’t say anything he fears he’ll take her into his arms and kiss her. And he cannot kiss her, that time has passed for them.

She chuckles low in her throat, “You’re behind the attack?”

“Actually my friend is, I hear you met him. Des? And it’s not real, just an illusion. But we have to get moving now.” He takes her hand and once more he resists the temptation to pull her into a hug.

“Not to interrupt - but what is going on?” The elven woman asks and Serahlin turns to her, still beaming as joyous relief flows through her.

“Aili, this is Adannar. Adannar, this is Aili - she is Sylaise’s adopted daughter slash captive. She’s coming with us.” Aili, she’s small and cute, but the magic inside of her is barely held back flame, curling within her. It shows in her hair. Something about it is so familiar but he can’t think about that now.

“Very well. She can come as long as we leave now.” He takes Serahlin’s hand again attempting to guide her back to the drain when Aili grows visibly upset.

“We can’t leave without Uthvir! Serahlin, remember? Uthvir, trapped down there? If we leave, they will have no one! I’m not leaving without them!” For such a small woman, Aili stands firm in place. Adannar’s heart goes out to her but -

“Adannar, she’s right. Uthvir’s a dragon, we can’t just leave them here,” Serahlin says and his attention quickly snaps to that.

“A _dragon_?” He asks, tone turning grave. A dragon is being held captive here? How - nevermind, he doesn’t want to know how this dragon was captured or… _kept._ The thought is so horrifying to him that it’s best not to dwell.

Serahlin nods slowly, “I wouldn’t believe it myself, but I met them when Andruil threw me in with them to scare me. Their magic is being kept suppressed. They’re chained in the dungeon. We can’t leave them here.”

Uncommon fury blasts through Adannar and he feels his eyes flash to their natural state. Aili gasps.

“You’re…you’re one too?” She breathes.

“Yes. Anaris -

“Ah, this was not part of the original agreement,” the fairy replies. Some part of Adannar, the primitive, draconic part that holds flesh memories and instincts wants to bite him. For a fairy, that would be fatal and would defeat his purpose. He takes a long steadying breath.

“For each person you help me rescue you may have one piece from my hoard with the previous aforementioned conditions. Deal?” He offers.

“No. It will apply to Aili, but this Uthvir…rescuing a dragon is no small task.” _Do not kill him, do not._

Adannar grinds his teeth, “Then what do you want?”

“I want something built,” he answers immediately, likely sensing the razor edge Adannar is teetering on. He is not a violent dragon, he abhors violence, but there are few things that enrage him like the abuse and subjugation of his fellow dragons. It also did not escape his notice that Andruil threw Serahlin into the dungeon.

There are moments when he can understand the violence his fellows have been driven to.

“Excuse me, selfish creature, but your demands are _foul_ ,” Serahlin hisses, “you have absolutely no regard for life. Do you not realize the implications of Andruil having a dragon, hm? What power she has enslaved? How easily could she turn this dragon’s power against you and your people? And how long do think it is before she attempts to capture fairies? You need nothing built, what you need is to show to these people is that they cannot continue to capture and subjugate the magical people of this world. You _will_ help Adannar, not because you are getting some ridiculous item out of it, but because it is the right thing to do, or so help you, you will suffer the consequences.”

He falls in love with her a bit more with those words, and his heart swells with incredible pride.

Anaris sneers at her, “You will regret those words, _princess_. You do not understand the fey.”

“And you do not understand me when I say that Andruil needs to be checked lest you all _die_. That is your payment - your life.” He cannot kiss her right now for that, it would completely undermine her and her ground, but oh does he want to kiss her. Standing up to a fairy even though knowing nothing about them and why they strike bargains. And to threaten him - yes, it’s not advisable, but her bravery is stunning and wonderful, even if it is rash.

“She is right, Anaris. How long would it be until Andruil sets her eyes upon the fair folk?” Adannar asks, which serves to only deepen his scowl.

“They’re looking for power - you have magic, right? That’s why we’re here,” Aili says suddenly, “they’re looking for magical power that they don’t have to break curses or something. Uthvir’s magic couldn’t break them, ours couldn’t either…she’ll come looking for you and your people next.”

“I don’t have people,” Anaris glowers, “but I see your point. Those of us who wander would be…susceptible, _if_ she learned how to capture us.”

“She captured a dragon,” Serahlin deadpans, “I think the odds of her figuring out how to capture a fairy are pretty good. Do this and you put her focus back on the dragons rather than the fairies.”

He realizes that this is how she was at court and that what Vena said was true. She was _good_ at it. She is fierce and stalwart with her words and position. Even while in a position that makes her reliant upon him and Anaris, she stands tall and demands concessions in the best interest for someone who cannot advocate for themselves.

Anaris curses, “Very well. I will aid in the release of Uthvir - but I still get _three_ pieces from the hoard with the pre-existing caveat.”

“Deal,” Adannar says, and holds his finger out for Anaris to clasp it. With the magical deal struck, Adannar turns to Vena.

“Take the ladies to the drain and get them out of here. I will take care of this Uthvir with Anaris.” Vena nods and strides forward.

“Alright, ladies -

“Vena?! How did you get involved in this?” Aili exclaims only to quickly wave her hands, “nevermind, you’ll explain later. And wait, wait - I’m going with you. Uthvir is _my_ friend.”

Adannar shakes his head, “I can’t be worrying about you if I’m going to do this. Rescuing one of my kind is tricky. Please, go with Vena, get to the forest.”

“We can trust him, Aili,” Serahlin says and his heart soars. She…trusts him? Even after everything?

Aili gives Adannar a hard look, “Fine. But you better get them out.”

He smiles, “I will.”

“We have to cut this short, I hear guards,” Vena says.

“There is a door that opens up in the courtyard. Andruil first used it to get Uthvir into the dungeon. One of the guards has the key. Uthvir is also chained in chains that suppress their magic,” Serahlin explains quickly as she is pulled along with Vena down the hall.

“Go! I will see you in the forest!” Adannar says as Vena ushers the ladies down the hall to the washroom. Serahlin gives Adannar a backward glance full of emotion. Soon, they’ll talk again soon. But right now, he has a fellow dragon to save.

**

A sewer. They came in through a _sewer_. That explained their stench, at least. Vena helps her and Aili through the drain, somehow trudging through the disgusting sewage for what feels like forever until _finally_ they reach the end of the drain.

The water and…other things on her dress weigh it down. Not to be slowed, Serahlin takes the outer layer off, leaving her in the shift and corset. She throws the dress into a pile of sewage, glad to be rid of it.

Just past the drain are two large mechanical harts. She smiles, his creatures now welcome reminders of the safety of the wood.

Aili yelps and keeps behind Vena, “What are those?”

“They’re mechanical harts. Adannar built them. It’s what he does - create life from the lifeless,” Serahlin explains softly, walking to one of the harts. She reaches a hand out and the hart leans its head down for her to pet it. What a marvelous creature. It’s a bit amazing to think that not so long ago she’d be terrified of it, but now she runs her hand along its smooth snout, marveling at its movements and size.

“We’re riding them to safety,” Vena states and Aili scowls.

“We’re going to help, if we ride around that way, we’ll be at the courtyard,” Aili argues.

“Precisely,” Serahlin replies, “we’ll clear the courtyard out for them. Adannar will need space to take flight.”

Vena sighs, “You’ve spent how long imprisoned here? Don’t you want to get away? Adannar can take of himself - he’s a _dragon_.”

“I’m perfectly aware of what he is, but I also know what is here, and I’m not going to allow it to prevent him and Uthvir from escaping. You can run if you want, but I’m going to fight.” Serahlin swings a leg over over the hart, “After all, I was one of the best riders in Eletharan. Coming Aili?”

“Yeah!” She rushes over to Serahlin’s hart, hopping on behind Serahlin. Aili pulls her hair forward and wraps it a couple of times around herself, still keeping her arms free. Vena gives a long suffering sigh but doesn’t argue as he mounts his hart.

“The courtyard is this way, we’ll need to wait for the right moment to ambush the guards.” Serahlin can’t help but grin as Vena starts to lead them around the castle.

“This is a bad idea, you don’t even have weapons,” Vana mumbles.

“Oh? I can move things with my mind.”

“And I can apparently start fires!” Aili announces proudly.

Vena’s shoulders slump, “Of course you have magic. Everyone has magic now.”

**

Anaris is furious, Adannar can tell. He’ll make it up to the fairy later, but right now there are bigger things to take care of. This Uthvir needs to be rescued. They must be young to have been captured and held against their will. Really young. He can only think of one time in a dragon’s life where they would be so susceptible to this - right after first formation. When the body is young and the former spirit is still growing accustomed to the constraints of a body. Normally, other dragons would guard the newly formed to ensure something like this wouldn’t happen, but this is no longer possible. Any gathering of dragons is seen as suspicious and likely to garner more attention. Now it’s safer to simply let the dragon form and hope it doesn’t garner dangerous attention.

Moreover, Adannar has not heard of an Uthvir. He hasn’t made contact with many of his former friends in quite some time, but he thought he would at least know when a new dragon formed. No matter, he will get Uthvir out and somewhere safe so they can fully come into their draconic glory.

If Adannar goes off of the assumption they were newly formed when they were captured, then they will not have many abilities to help themselves through this rescue. They’ve likely never shifted into elven form and he will need to get them to do exactly that if they have any hope of making it out. They will be too much of a target in their dragon form, and while Adannar has abilities to keep himself safe, not to mention an older and thickened hide that can absorb many blows from typical weapons, Uthvir does not. As an elf, Uthvir will be easier to protect, he can just stand over them like a mother hen standing over her chicks.

Anaris pouts on his shoulder as they make their way through the castle. Who knew finding a dungeon would actually be difficult? It’s been so long since he’s been in an elven castle, and the last time he was in one, he never even thought about the dungeon. He was in the banquet hall, laughing and drinking ale as a guest of honor.

“I’ve had enough of running around,” Anaris says, voice clipped. He leaps off Adannar’s shoulder and disappears for several moments.

“Anaris?” Adannar whispers after the moments stretch into minutes. “Anaris!”

“I’m here,” he states, reappearing on Adannar’s shoulder, “with the location of the dungeon. Turn right.” Adannar follows Anaris’s directions until they look around a corner to see two guards stationed outside a large wooden door. Anaris murmurs something in the fairy language and guards promptly collapse. Adannar rushes forward and searches them for a key to the dungeon. Found, he opens the door and sets down the stairs.

Darkness envelops them, but Adannar and Anaris’s eyes quickly adjust to the lowlight. Everything turns to a grey as their pupils dilate, and their noses wrinkle at the nearly overwhelming stench of the dungeon. Has his fellow dragon had to suffer for long in this horrid place? Disgust and fury flow through Adannar unlike they have before, even during the war.

The dungeon is thankfully larger than what he feared. The ceilings are tall, though not as tall as he would like. In his dragon form, he would have to keep his head low to fit, and even then his horns would likely scrape against the ceiling.

Finding the cell with Uthvir is not difficult. The entire dungeon is built around the large, central cell where an immense shadowed figure is lurking. The figure does not move even when Adannar runs up to the bars.

“Are you Uthvir?” He calls.

A growl emanates from the shadow and chains rattle as they move. Red eyes turn to Adannar as they approach the bars, sniffing the air.

“What are you?” They ask, no pretense. His heart breaks for them to not recognize him as one of their own.

“I’m a dragon like you,” he tells them softly, “and I am here to help. First, you must stand back.” Uthvir growls but does as he requests, stepping back from the bars as Adannar allows his magic to spill from him. He controls it just enough to ensure that when he assumes his true form he does not smash himself into the ceiling or any other supports.

The guard’s uniform he’s wearing shatters under the magic as he swells with his magic. Wings and tail and horns spring from him and soon he is on all fours, ramming his well horned head into the bars. As magically reinforced they are, they are not even comparable to the might of a nearly thousand year old dragon.

Uthvir steps away from him though and he can smell the twinges of their fear. And it is then that he sees them more clearly. They are small for a dragon, much smaller than Adannar, and nearly covered in feathers save for the scales of their forearms, belly, and neck. Said feathers ruffles as they shift back and he catches sight of their wings -

It takes all the effort in him to not roar with consuming _rage_ that sets through him at the sight of the mangled flesh of their wings. Their shoulders are lashed, largely plucked to reveal the horrendous abuse that has been heaped upon them.

He can be furious later, right now, he needs them to trust him. That won’t happen if he continues to project anger at them. So Adannar reigns it in as quickly as he can. Uthvir deserves kindness and compassion right now, not righteous fury. The fury can come later.

“No need to worry,” he reassures, “Aili sent me. She is your friend, yes? I can take you to her and away from this place.”

They regard him carefully before shifting and giving a curt nod, “I will accept your help.”

“Excellent! Let’s start on these chains, hmm?” He lays a front claw on the chains, sensing the mystical enforcement. With a surge of righteous magic, fueled in no small part by offense and fury, he snaps the chain with its enchantment. Except it does more than just snap - it _disintegrates._

His magic must have…grown since the last time he used it like this.

Uthvir gasps and their magic, smaller and newer bubbles out from them.

That magic - oh. _Oh._

“Sympathy?” He whispers and their heads whips around.

“Where do you know that name?” They hiss even as he is close to weeping, he cannot believe -

“Sympathy, it’s me, Adannar. I was a friend of Glory’s before…when you were still a spirit. We thought you died when - you became a dragon?” His voice is whisper soft, even like this, laced with awe and horror.

It’s been two hundred forty years since Glory was slain in battle, and the last time Adannar saw Sympathy was around that time and they had still been a spirit.

“I…do not…” they stammer, clearly struggling to find the memories.

“Sh, it’s alright. We’ll get you out. There will be time to discuss all of this. You go by Uthvir now?”

“I do not remember not being who I am,” they reply. Adannar resists growling. The enchantments meant to suppress magic all over this place must have created a block on their memories somehow since they were so heavily connected to magic.

“We need to get you out of here. You will need to turn into an elf, here let me help.” He shifts back into his elven form, naked, but uncaring. “Look at me, study my form and think about becoming like me. Let go of all the magic you have and let it fill you, then think about being an elf.” He has to coach them through it for several minutes, their form wavering more and more until shadows envelop them and their form shrinks down to that of a small elf, not that much bigger than Aili. Their hair is long and dark and their eyes even change from a bright red to a warm brown.

For a moment, he thinks it is like looking at a darker version of Glory. Their features share a fine beauty that few others have. But there are clear differences. Uthvir’s eyebrows are more arched, their chin more pointed, and their shoulders do not carry the same bold confidence Glory was known for.

They look down at themselves and quickly frown at their lack of clothes. Adannar summons his robe and wraps them up in it. It is far too long for them, but it will do for now.

“Not to ruin the moment, but we need to leave, _now,_ ” Anaris declares from his spot by the ruined bars to the cell. Adannar, now naked as a newborn babe, turns toward the rest of the dungeon just as three guards come into view.

Adannar is not cruel and he normally detests violence. He does not wish to kill these guards, so he draws upon his knowledge of metal and casts a spell he normally saves for his creations when they need to be still. Except the magic reacts differently here with the dungeon’s enchantments. The magic ricochets and instead of rooting them to the ground, the metal is magnetized. The guards yell as they suddenly collide into each other until they are stuck in an odd jumbled mess.

Well, it worked.

“Do any of you have a key to the gate?” He asks and they curse him for his “curse.” Fine. He’ll figure it out. He beckons Anaris and Uthvir to him then quickly makes his way through the dungeon.

Uthvir stumbles frequently, unaccustomed to their legs. They curse, stubbing and scraping their feet repeatedly until it slows them too much. Adannar turns, picks them up, much to their protests, and continues through the dungeon.

It’s _huge_. There are dozens cells and judging by all the scents, Andruil had certainly been busy, capturing all manner of beasts. The cells are empty now, but they have not been so for long. Finally they come to what looks to be a control room. Anaris dispatches the guards inside and a quick search of the bodies reveals that none of them have keys to the large gate above their heads.

Time to do this the obvious way, Adannar is done wasting time. He sets Uthvir down and has Anaris perch himself on their shoulder. Once his friends are at a safe distance, he transforms once more into his true form. Gathering as much strength as he can, Adannar launches himself up at the gate. He rams his body into the metal, willing it to open. On the fourth ram, the gate bursts open and he follows suit, launching himself upward with a powerful kick.

Adannars roars into the sky, steam spilling from his mouth as he directs it to the largest grouping of guards. They scream as their skin burn, cooking inside those metal suits of armor. He turns and swipes out at the guards closest to him. A few seem to rally, however as they charge at him .They go for his face, stupidly enough. He snaps his jaws and catches them in his teeth before he throws them across the courtyard.

“Climb up my tail,” he calls to Uthvir, who follows his direction and grabs hold of the spines in his tail. He hears them gasp and feels their fear when he hears a familiar sound -

“Behind you!” Serahlin calls as she runs her hart around him. Magic zings in the air and he hears several guards scream.

_She’s telekinetic,_ he thinks for a split second before a guard with a very pokey pitchfork attempts to pierce his hide. Adannar flicks his arm, sending the guard sailing through the air. Uthvir resumes their ascent until they are nestled safely between his wings.

“Get out of here!” Adannar cries, worry bleeding from him as he leaps up to start fighting fully. As worried as he is, no guard comes close to Serahlin. She throws them, or their heads turn in sickening directions, and sometimes they even catch fire. When Adannar turns to handle another guard, Vena is there, lopping the heads off several as he rides ‘round Adannar.

“Fly! Go!” Serahlin yells back at him.

“Where is Uthvir?” Aili yells.

“I have them!” He decries before he feels them tense.

“Men! Form up!” A commanding woman’s voice echoes and he knows it’s Andruil. He can hear horse’s thunderous hoof-falls as she barrels for him. The fog parts enough for him to see her running straight at him, spear at the ready.

The obvious thing would be to breathe his steam at her - but she knows that and it would give her a second to throw the spear directly down his throat. It couldn’t kill him right away, but it would incapacitate him long enough for her to kill him. Or worse. So Adannar doesn’t do the obvious thing. Instead, he leaps up over Andruil, faster than a dragon his size would suggest.

The horse whinnies in alarm as Adannar lands on a courtyard wall. His claws dig into the stone and he hefts himself up the wall. The fear rolling off Uthvir is alarming as is his own heart rate, but he can’t think of that right now. He has to get away. As quick as he can be, take off will take effort. He has expended much magic already today, so he will need to run to get himself airborne.

He clears the courtyard wall and begins to run. It is not a pretty run and it takes all his willpower not to look behind him to make sure Serahlin and Aili leave the courtyard safely. Vena will get them out, he will, Adannar has to trust that, just as Aili is trusting him to get Uthvir out.

He forces his legs to move faster when he hears Andruil once more. She urges her horse to go faster just as he unfurls his wings and attempts to take flight. One beat, two. No go. Faster. He has to go faster.

“Any day now, Adannar!” Anaris calls. He’d answer if his lungs didn’t burn with the effort. There is a hill coming up, if he can just make it to that hill -

Andruil gains ground, enough that he knows that if she throws a spear, she could land it. There is a moment where he thinks perhaps she will wait until it will be a finishing blow, but then he hears the leather on her wrist snap with the effort.

Magic explodes around Adannar as the trickiest of magic emanates from Anaris. Luck. It’s power that cannot be expended frequently, luck strong enough to defy physics and intent.

The spear goes wide and misses Adannar by the tiniest of margins.

Andruil screams in anger and he hears her draw her sword instead. But it’s too late, he’s upon the hill. He spreads his wings and beats them when the earth dips, propelling himself into the air. Magic surrounds him and sends him higher, higher still -

_“Dispel that which shrouds, bring what is mine down!”_ Andruil shouts and magic shoots out of her so accurate that no amount of luck can deter it. Uthvir screams as the spells sinks its claws into them, rending their elven form from them.

“Adannar! She’s turning them!” Anaris shouts as he tries to counter the magic - but he can’t. Once the transformation starts, it cannot be stopped. He is high enough that a fall could potentially kill or permanently cripple Uthvir. But their weight expands, dragging him down, down -

_No._ The sentiment rises in him so strongly, the Dreaming wavers around him.

He is not losing another dragon to Andruil. He is not losing Uthvir. Not again. He thought them lost after Glory, certain that Glory’s twin-spirit had died with them. He is not losing them when they are so close to being free from Andruil. She will not take this again. And he is not abandoning Serahlin.

“ _Hold on,_ ” he growls. Uthvir digs their talons into Adannar’s hide but he hardly notices the pain as he forces the Dreaming to bend to him, to buoy him up, up, wings beating harder and faster. They strain with the extra effort, but they move and the Dreaming dare not disobey his will now.

His wings burn with the effort to keep them propped up in the air, but he will not waver. He _refuses_. Andruil has taken too much and she cannot have them! Not one more!

He calls the Dreaming to him with all that he was and is. With his nearly thousand years of draconic life compounded the six hundred years as a spirit before that. He expands his magic to pull on all the joys felt in the lands beneath him. That is his power, that is who he is. Joy. It is what will carry them.

A roar tears from him. The magic snaps and flows like a dam just broken. It sends him up into the clouds and out of Andruil’s sight. Distantly, he hears Anaris laugh and Uthvir rumble in astonishment.

“ _You did it! You actually did it!”_

Some part of him is aware of the blood loss from Uthvir’s talons, but he cannot be distracted now as he sails over the western lands of Elvhenan. He knows he has crossed into the forest when a swirling mass of magic surrounds them. It tickles his scales and brushes along Uthvir’s feathers. He could land, but he isn’t far enough, it’s not home. He needs safety, he needs - he knows what he needs.

He adjusts his wings to catch a magical thermal then banks to the left.

“ _Where is he taking us?!”_ Uthvir shouts.

_“His home!”_ Anaris replies.

Home indeed. 

The thermal boosts his speed so that instead of hours, it is only a single hour before they are flying over the mountain range. He lowers himself in preparation to land. How he will land well, he has no idea. Uthvir is throwing his weight off and he can feel his muscles protesting even as he forces them to carry the weight.

It takes another hour to cross the mountains, and then almost another entire hour before they make it to the waterfall. He feels its pull, calling him home.

Reluctantly, Adannar released the thermal and begins his descent proper. Trees bend and snap as he careens toward the pool of healing waters. So close, almost there, almost -

His wings give out just as he makes it to the pool. Him and Uthvir drop into the depths, sending a great geyser of water up in the air. The magic keeps it so that the water returns to the pool. It surrounds him and Uthvir, warming them, plugging wounds, stopping bleeding - soothing scars that almost send Adannar back into a rage when he catches sight of them.

The rage quickly dissipates when he realizes that they’re safe now and they can heal. They kick until their head breaches the surface of the water, but they make no move to get out of the pool. Adannar climbs out, dimly aware that he means to go back for Serahlin.

“Adannar, stop, it’s time to sleep,” Anaris chides.

“Serahlin?” He asks, collapsing on the ground, unable to move. All magic and strength has left him. He couldn’t go even if he had to.

“I saw her - Vena got her out with the help of the dryad. The wall of vines opened up and they escaped. It’s done, they’re all rescued.”

Oh. They did it. They really did.

“Thank you,” he says, or at least he thinks he says it.

Relief courses through him and the last of his energy finally sputters out. Adannar collapses, consciousness fading to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3


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